This Isn't Dating
by uhpockuhlipz
Summary: Since they were thirteen years old, Santana's been telling her "this isn't dating" or "that isn't dating". And since they were thirteen, Brittany's been wondering... So what is?  Brittana
1. Pinky linking

**This will be in a few chapters all about this length. Just something that was bopping around in my head. It'll all be posted relatively quickly. It's all in my head already. **

We were thirteen the first time Santana told me we weren't dating. She said,

_Linking pinkies isn't dating._

Now at that point, I had never thought of Santana as more than my very best friend. We were thirteen and we had been best friends since we were in pre-school and I never really thought about it. We were always together. To me, that was all that mattered. I guess I've never really been the fastest of the two of us now that I think about it. Santana does things first, always, even when it isn't something she particularly wants to happen. Sometimes I think it's kind of funny, but mostly it's really sad to me that she does these things and then fights them. It must be painful, wanting something and not wanting it at the same time. The funny thing about her is that she seems really strong and tough. I guess it _is_ true most of the time, but most people don't see beyond that so they miss the fact that she's all soft and warm inside (which is really sad because that's the best part of her). She was like that even at thirteen – really, she'd been like that since kindergarten – but I had known her since pre-school so I knew better than everyone else what she had in her.

So I knew when we were thirteen, about to get out of middle school, that something was bothering Santana. We were having one of our weekly sleepovers (something that was happening more and more frequently as Santana got older because she liked to get away from her empty house) when I first noticed it. There was one of our favorite movies playing on the TV, but Santana was sitting stiffly beside me and didn't seem to be enjoying it at all. I kept looking over at her at the funny parts we normally laughed at, hoping to see a smile, but her mouth didn't so much as twitch. "What's wrong?" I asked at last, shifting closer to her with a tiny frown. She flinched and scowled. I'm pretty sure she was upset I'd noticed anything.

"Nothing, I'm fine," she told me with a shrug, never looking at me. It was a lie and I knew it. And she knew I knew it. Her arms folded tightly across her chest and she looked the way she sometimes did at school when she didn't want anyone to know she was bothered- blank. I didn't like seeing her look like that with me. I hardly ever got that look and it always made me feel edgy when she directed it at me. I continued to stare at her, hoping the ice would melt, and her dark eyes eventually swung in my direction. "Don't worry about it, Britt," was what she said this time before looking away again, but I knew I _was_ going to worry about it. She was upset and she didn't want to talk about it, which was fine, but I wished that look would go away. So I moved even closer and poked at her shoulder, my eyes still locked on her face. Her jaw clenched and she dropped her fisted hands to her sides, staring at me with those blank eyes. "What?" She snapped the word impatiently, but that didn't bother me. Santana only got mad with me when she didn't want to talk about it.

I wrapped the hand I had poked her with around one of her fisted hands, my eyes still on hers as I silently pleaded for her to open up to me. It was a long moment before she began to relax, and I took advantage by slipping my fingers through hers with a little smile of success. We'd been holding hands since the day we met so really it wasn't that big a deal, but it must have made Santana feel better because she relaxed and sighed. Her hand squeezed mine gently and I smiled again, my head dropping against her shoulder. It was all so simple and familiar, but somehow it must have been different to her. She was playing with my fingers and I was watching, curious. She had something to say, I could tell. See, a lot of people would tell you that I don't know a whole lot. I guess that's true. I'm not stupid enough to think I'm smart, which sort of means that I have to know something I guess, but that's not the point. I'm not a good student and I don't know a lot about books or math or outer space. I do, however, know a lot about Santana. I always have. If Santana 101 was a class, I'd have the best grade of anyone. It had been true since we were four. "You can tell me, San," I whispered quietly.

"Britt… We're starting high school next year," she said slowly, and I nodded eagerly to show I understood. High school had been the Big Dream since we were about eight and I knew Santana was both excited and nervous about it. It was another one of those things that didn't matter to me much personally – I didn't do well in school and it really didn't make a difference to me which grade we were in – but it mattered to Santana so I was enthusiastic too. She knew that (because really, if Brittany 101 was a class, she'd have the best grade of anyone too) and she smiled, I guess because she knew I was only excited since she was. Again her fingers squeezed mine and she turned her head to look at me. I could see she was actually smiling now because her eyes smiled, too. Still, there was an edge of worry to it all, and I wanted it gone. "Well… I think we need to be careful."

I nodded again, though I didn't understand the comment really. Be careful? What did that even mean? "Alright, San," I said slowly, trying to puzzle it out without sounding stupid. I gave up after a minute and added, "What do you mean?"

"We're going to have to be super popular. We'll have to work hard. I think we should be on the Cheerios." She looked nervously towards me for a reaction, but I was excited by the idea. Dancing and stuff? I was totally all for that idea. Plus, the uniforms were so cute. Seeing I was in absolute agreement, she grinned and used the hand wrapped around mine to pull me in for a tight hug. "I'm going to get us through high school on top," she promised. "But if we're going to do this, Britt, we need to change some stuff. Because I want us to be able to do this, but we can't if we… you know, hold hands and stuff."

I was confused. We'd always done that. "Why?"

"Because we'll look like giant lesbos, that's why!"

I didn't get it, and I didn't like this idea. I could feel a pout forming, mixing with confusion and a sudden fear. I didn't want high school to be different. I liked us how we were. Changes were scary, and it was bad enough we'd be in a new, much bigger school. No way I wanted to lose the comfort of my best friend. Like I said, though, Santana knew me as well as I knew her. Seeing my reaction, she loosened her grip on my hand and hooked our pinkies together. "How's this?" she whispered hurriedly. "We can do this, okay? This isn't holding hands. No one will think we're dykes if we only do this." I looked at our linked fingers and considered. That's when she said it. "Linking pinkies isn't dating."

Dating? I looked up slowly, staring at Santana with wide eyes. Is that what this was about? She didn't want people to think we were dating? I giggled because at first the idea sounded silly. Dating? With kissing and stuff? Santana was my best friend, of course we weren't dating! Why would anyone believe that? So I nodded and Santana looked relieved and we relaxed again to watch the movie. This time, Santana laughed and made comments and sang along with some of the numbers (I loved when she sang along).

I, however, thought about it for the rest of the night- even when we curled up in my bed to sleep, I kept thinking about it. _Linking pinkies isn't dating. _So… What would be dating to Santana?

**Chapter one: check. **


	2. Kissing

**O hai. I totally didn't expect this story to generate as much of a response as it did… Thanks for all the reviews and alerts, though! I know I said I'd get this up fast, but I've been swamped with work. I haven't gone to bed before five am once since Wednesday- partly because I joined a Glee RP on tumblr and it's amazing so it's taking up a lot of my time… Anyways, yeah, here's chapter two. (:**

We were fourteen the first time Santana told me,

_Kissing isn't dating. _

The thing you have to understand about Santana to get this part of the story is that she's…. sensitive. Not that anyone could be blamed for not knowing that. She hides it well, she always has, and a lot of the time she brushes off what people say to her or about her anyway. It's really only certain things that get to her. If someone calls her a bitch, it's okay. That's how she wants most people to see her. She's Santana Mother-fucking Lopez, head bitch in charge, and that's how she'd always wanted it to be. People could even call her a slut and it didn't hurt too bad. She had a reputation as one by mid-freshman year, though it wasn't true, and she didn't bother to fight it because it helped her reputation instead of hurt it.

Reputation. It's probably one of the longest words I knew the definition of at the time because it was an important one to Santana and she had been careful to teach it to me early on. That was what Santana was most sensitive about. What people thought had always been a big deal to her and if someone thought the wrong thing, something she didn't want them to think, it really got to her. Sometimes she was hurt and sometimes she was angry (usually a mixture of both), but every time the only person who realized it was me. Somehow I always knew when a comment had hurt her. I guess I had just learned how to read her. There was a subtle tensing to her body, a slight thinning of her lips. Often this would prompt me to hook my pinky around hers in the gesture she had taught me and make some random comment to change the topic. This always got her to relax again, something I was proud of. How many people could say they knew Santana like I did? Being her rescuer made me happy.

I always thought that Santana just needed to know someone knew the truth about her, understood her, and was there for her. I was really the only person who could do that, the only person she let get close enough to see the full picture. She wasn't good at opening up. Sure, she made other friends – Quinn, Puck – but I don't think that they really ever understood her either. That was my job, just like it was her job to understand my comments and vague simplicity. Santana never once called me stupid and I never called her a bitch or a slut. We got each other, better than anyone else ever could get another person. At least, I always thought so.

Santana, to her credit, worked hard to keep the promise she made me about staying on top. By the time we were halfway through freshman year, we were super popular. We were Cheerios (two of the best), we were hot, and our reputations – always that word – were what were expected from popular girls. We'd joined forces with Quinn Fabray – the next captain, so it was rumored at the time – and her intelligence and superiority complimented us well; her smartness to my simple-mindedness, her chastity to Santana's (rumored) sex life. Her personality was kind of like a mix of us, sort of. Really, it was a good match. Santana also urged me to make out with a few people here and there – all about the teasing and not about the pleasing – while she decided to lose her virginity to Noah Puckerman.

That was what started it, I think. Fourteen is pretty young to lose the v-card and Santana wasn't ready for it all so when it happened, I guess it got to her. Living under the weight of your social status is hard, though, so she gave into it and got into bed with Puck. I didn't know, not until after, which made it a little worse. If I had known before what she was thinking of doing, I could have talked to her about it and maybe she would have figured out she didn't want that. But she didn't tell me, and even though I had known there was _something _going on, she never brought it up. I knew Santana, but I still couldn't read minds. She must have been planning it for a while – she never did anything without a plan – but she didn't say a word. I guess she was scared of what I'd think, though I don't know why. She usually told me everything, but not this time. Probably because she didn't want me to tell her not to… or maybe she was worried I'd tell her she should.

The night it happened, I fell asleep clutching my phone in my hand. I was worried Santana had gotten lost or something because she hadn't texted me back in a while and she never ever forgot to text back. I did sometimes, or I'd forget to charge my phone or something, but Santana never did those things. So, I clutched my phone and waited for her to answer, eventually falling asleep just like that. It wasn't until 3:21 (I remember because the numbers were in backwards order) that the phone buzzed in my hand. I stirred and flipped it open groggily.

It said, _Britt, roll over._

I read the text a couple of times through, eyes peering tiredly at the screen before I did what my phone ordered me to do. A few moments later, the window slid open and a long, tanned leg appeared, followed quickly by a head and body and then another leg. Santana closed the window slowly and quietly behind her before sneaking across the room to my bed. I watched as she pulled down the blanket on the side of the bed I had just rolled away from and crawled in before pulling it over herself again. "Hey, Britt," she whispered, and her warm breath washed over my face. It smelled like spearmint where it usually smelled like Santana, and I remember I didn't like it very much.

"Hey, San," I whispered back and I smiled at her because it was good to see she wasn't lost. I reached out an arm and she made a small sound as she slid under it and cuddled against me. My arm wrapped tightly around her waist and I pulled her close for a hug. I loved hugging Santana. We'd always been close so none of this was really out of the norm, except I think I remember liking it more and more as time passed. I didn't say anything to her though because Santana would talk if she wanted to talk and because I was kind of sleepy and thought maybe Santana had just wanted to sleep over to get out of her empty house.

But no, Santana wanted to talk. She was plucking at the strap of my tank top now, her fingertips brushing my skin lightly as she did so. Even in the dark I knew her eyes focused on her own hand because she sometimes did that when she was nervous- watched hers hands, I mean. It was rare, and it made me worried. "San?" I asked, trying not to annoy her. My hand moved in gentle circles on her back, though I'm not sure who the gesture comforted more- me or her. She looked up and our eyes met in the semi-darkness (semi because I had a duck shaped nightlight plugged in- I've had the same nightlight since I'd first started being afraid of the dark). The hand that had been toying with the strap of my tank top curled around it now, tightly. I heard Santana take a deep breath.

"I slept with Puck." She said it quickly, like pulling off a band-aid.

"Okay," I replied, confused. Obviously she hadn't stayed sleeping with him if she was here now. I didn't get what she was trying to say, which I think she realized a moment later because she shook her head quickly.

"No, I mean… We had sex, B."

My body froze at the words and I could only stare. "Oh" was the solitary word my brain could send to my lips. I didn't understand the feeling that made my stomach churn then, but I knew I didn't like it. It really wasn't nice at all. Actually, it kind of made me feel sick. My arm slid away from Santana's waist and I rolled onto my back to stare at the ceiling with my arms clutched tightly around my upset tummy as I tried to think of what to say. All I could think, though, was that my belly felt awful and I wished Santana hadn't done it. She was talking, giving me reasons why she did it. All I got was that it had to do with stupid reputations again and it was making me… well, mad.

I didn't get mad often – never, really – so I didn't know what to do. I don't think Santana even realized it at first, which is really weird because usually Santana knew how I'd feel about something before even I did. Slowly, though, she stopped talking and rolled towards me so that she was looking down at me. There was a line between her eyebrows so I knew she was worried about the fact I hadn't said anything in a while. "Britt?" No response. "Brittany?" I flinched at the sound of my full name, but stayed silent. Santana was getting really worried now I could see. I had never, ever ignored her like this before. Her voice got harsh with her anger, but I knew her and I knew she was not mad at me- she was mad at Santana. "Come on, B, say something!"

"Why?" My eyes shifted from the spot on the ceiling to meet hers and I pouted. "Why did you do that, San? You didn't even tell me you were going to! We're supposed to tell each other everything!" My voice got a little louder, that I knew better than to actually yell. If my parents came in here, they'd be mad Santana snuck in again. Even if I was mad at her, I didn't want her to have to go home and be alone.

"Not everything about me is your business, Brittany!" The words were mean and both of us stopped talking. I was shocked, and if her wide eyes meant what I thought they meant, she had surprised herself too. I didn't get it. Santana _was _my business. She was my very best friend, why wouldn't she be? I didn't understand what she meant and I really, _really _didn't like the feeling in my stomach now. It was all too much. My eyes filled up and I sat up quickly, curling my legs against my chest before curling my arms around them. I could taste my tears now as they met the corners of my mouth and I didn't like that either. I hated crying, which is why I didn't do it a lot. San knew that, too, of course. That's when she sat up quickly after me, swearing in Spanish. At least, I think she was swearing. I spoke a little Spanish because of her, but she wouldn't teach me the bad stuff.

"I'm sorry, Britt," she whispered to me as she ran a hand down my hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's a lie. We're each other's business. I just… I was afraid to tell you." I looked at her, thinking about her words. Santana never said sorry, and she admitted to being scared even less than never. So after a second, I smiled at her to make her feel better. I could never stay mad at her for long. She sighed and smiled too, her hand tucking my hair behind my ear. She then leaned in and kissed my cheeks, whispering "sorry" again and again as her lips took my tears away. I don't think either of us knew why she was apologizing for sleeping with Puck. It wouldn't strike either of us as strange until later, and even then, only Santana would think about it too much. I accepted the reason with ease because to me, it was the simplest thing in the world. That was much later, though- at least for me. I never really knew when Santana started thinking about everything.

And then those gentle cheeks kisses stopped and Santana's lips were on mine in a kiss that tasted like tears and spearmint and _Santana, _and I guess probably like me too even though I couldn't taste that. At this point in my life, I had kissed a lot of boys, but none of those kisses had ever been like this. It was soft and sweet and warm and nice. The biggest surprise, though, was that I was not surprised. It was as if kissing Santana was what I was made to do, like we were made to have been doing this forever. Like our lips had been designed for each other's and no one else's really fit. I was dazed, but I kissed her back without hesitation, my hands lifting to her shoulders. "What was that?" I asked when she pulled back again. I felt like I couldn't hold air in my lungs, but in a good way. My stomach felt better, too- like she was medicine.

Santana smiled softly and touched my cheek, her other hand loosening from where it had tangled in my hair to stroke soothingly down it. "A sweet lady kiss," she replied teasingly, leaning in to place another small kiss on my lips. I didn't protest, but melted into the rightness of the feeling.

"I love your sweet lady kisses," I replied after a minute of this, something I would tell her every time we kissed from then on. I wanted her to know that she was wanted, that I liked this, that I really didn't want it to stop. She only smiled in response and closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against mine. We stayed sitting just like that for a long time. I was thinking and I couldn't talk and think at the same time. I don't know what she was doing. Thinking too, probably. At last I asked, "San? Does this mean we're girlfriends?" Wrong question. Her eyes snapped open and her smile disappeared. She stared at me, mouth open slightly, before she shook her head. I pouted as she ended all forms of contact between us and inched back away from me. Then she said it.

"_Kissing isn't dating." _

I continued to frown after that, growing a bit upset at the sudden denial. I looked quickly away from her and suddenly felt like crying again. She knew. Santana always knew. She sighed and moved forward again, cupping my chin to tilt my face up to hers. "That doesn't mean I don't want to kiss you, B," she whispered. "I do. I just… We can't tell anyone. We can't do it in public. So we can't be dating. But we can still kiss." I thought about it- or at least tried to. But she was kissing me again and I was giving in because I loved kissing her, it was my new favorite thing. It's funny, because she didn't seem surprised by this either. Sometimes I wonder if she knew since we were four exactly where we would go.

Mostly, though, I think we were the only thing she never planned for.

**So. This is a lot longer than the last chapter. I kinda sorta got carried away. Oops. Enjoy, and REVIEW PLZ. 3 **


	3. Sex

**Okay, so. The next few chapters will contain SPOILERS from the episodes up to the most recent. I don't know how far I'm going to go into it or how spoiler-like it'll be, but this is a warning just in case. Oh, and this chapter may or may not be rated R. Also, I wanted to ask everyone's opinion on this because I've been going back and forth with it… **

**What would you guys think of the very last chapter being in Santana's POV? Yes, no? Let me know.**

We were sixteen the first time Santana told me,

_Sex isn't dating. _

Of all of Santana's non-dating rules, this is the one that confused me the most. It was also the only one she had to say to me constantly. Sometimes I wondered if she had to say it for herself, too. To remind herself that every time we did it, it didn't mean she was in love with me or anything. We could do this without being in love. It was in the first few months of sophomore year that it happened the first time. I was finally starting to understand that I felt more for my best friend than… well… friendship. I think it only took this long to realize it because we had always been close and why would I question what I felt about someone I'd simply _had _forever? For me, loving Santana was easy. I had loved her since that first day in pre-school when she had taken my left hand in her right and said, "We're best friends." That was it. That was the exact moment it happened. That was the moment I started to love the dark-haired girl who'd struggled to color with her left hand because she refused to let go with her right.

Sometimes I think it had always been the same for her. In Santana's mind, though, it wasn't simple at all. Nothing ever was for her, especially things that were outside of her comfort zone- which loving a girl definitely was. Even she couldn't forget, though, that she always did these things first… that had to count for something. She was the first to lean over and kiss me. She was the first to hook our pinkies together. She was the first to claim me as her best friend as she grabbed my hand and then dragged me off to color. It was always her. Still, none of those things had ever been _simple _for her. The painfully shy pre-school Santana had to force herself to make a friend. I remember her eyes had been defiant and her grip had been tight on my hand. She hadn't relaxed until I'd agreed we were best friends. Then there was reputation-obsessed teenage Santana who hadn't really wanted things to go the way they had between us, but really, she couldn't change the fact that we fit. We were like… made for each other, and so she'd given into what she didn't want to want- things I hadn't known I wanted too until they were happening.

We weren't dating. Santana had made that very clear after that very first kiss, and I had soon discovered that meant nothing really changed- except that we kissed a whole lot when we could find time to be alone. Which, I mean, I totally didn't mind that part of it at least. I didn't really like the fact that we weren't the only people that we were both kissing, but Santana told me it just couldn't be helped. And maybe I didn't like it, but we weren't dating so I didn't think I was really allowed to complain. So Santana started dating Puck and having sex with him more regularly and I widened the variety of the people I made out with from boys to boys, girls, and even a janitor- though I guess that doesn't really count because it was on the cheek. I was trying to see if it made her as jealous as it made me when I saw her with Puck in the hallways. She never said anything, though, so I kind of just fell into a pattern of making out with whoever caught even a little bit of my interest. At some point I came to the conclusion that it didn't really matter who we were with or what we did as long as we always came back to each other at the end of the day. And we did. No matter who we were involved with, we always left school every day with our pinkies linked.

Sophomore year was also our year of playing spies for Coach Sylvester. I don't know why she got me involved, except maybe because she wanted the cunning Santana and the clever Quinn involved and since I was always with them, it was automatic. If you wanted Santana to do anything, there was security in having me do it. Santana was always where I was. And if Quinn was there, too, we were unstoppable. I don't think she counted on me being a weak link because of my love for all things dancing and happiness, though. Glee club was just that- gleeful. I know Quinn was all into the plan and everything because of Rachel Berry and Quinn's boyfriend Finn and… something to do with keeping them apart, I forget. That wasn't that important to me. What was important to me was that this whole thing was important to Santana, who wanted desperately to please Coach Sylvester however she could. Not that she'd ever admit that was her reasoning, but I knew her, and I understood her.

See, here's the thing. She may act like a total bitch sometimes, but **she** _is_**honest** with her insults- at least, she is most of the time. And Santana trusted and admired Coach Sylvester. Maybe that trust and respect was a bit misplaced, but you can't really judge her for giving those things to a woman who gave her a place in the spotlight at this school, a woman who put her faith in Santana when very few people did. Despite her popularity, Santana is a really insecure person. I think it's because of her mom and dad. Her parents were not really nice people and they left her alone a lot, putting her second to their jobs. She needed support and she needed to feel needed. So **someone who put Santana first and trusted her with important things went a long way with her**. Sure, she was always insulting everyone. That was who Santana was. She wasn't good at opening up to people. If she were, everything between us would have been so much easier. But she isn't. Worse, Puck used her for sex, a few people used her for sex, like it's the only thing she was good for. Then Puck and Quinn slept together and Quinn got pregnant and… and **it's sad that** no one can see past the mask to how much it truly hurt her except me. All **Santana needed was to be loved**. That's what it came down to. She just didn't want the love I wanted to give her.

But like I said, I ended up really kind of liking Glee. I got to sing and dance and be around people who didn't act like I was a complete moron. None of the other Cheerios said anything – Santana would have been really mad, and getting Santana mad was always a bad idea – but I wasn't _that _stupid. I could see that they looked down on me. The people in Glee club, though, treated me normal. I still got the weird looks sometimes, but mostly they admired my dancing and stuff. They actually _talked _to me. Not just Quinn and Santana and the football players, but everyone. Santana told me that I'd catch their loser if I kept it up, but I knew that wasn't true. No one would slushie me because I had Santana, and no one would slushie Santana because she _was _Santana. So I made friends with the members of New Directions and I danced and sang and loved every second. I forgot we had a specific job to do.

It got worse though after Coach found out Quinn was pregnant. Our queen bee was gone. Santana was next in charge and we all knew it. Coach Sylvester made her work for it, but it was hers. The top spot was Santana's. She took the position seriously. During practice, she was like a mini-coach, yelling and pushing and swearing as she whipped the Cheerios into shape. She was good at it and Coach Sylvester approved of her techniques. The only problem was that I knew Santana secretly liked Glee Club too and that the stress of leading the Cheerios and doing everything required for Glee and trying to spy for coach while trying to make sure her own plans failed was really getting to her. She made it to my house less because she was tired, and even when she did make it she slept a lot of the time.

And like I said, we weren't dating, so I really didn't have a claim on her time. I couldn't just tellher that I wanted more time with her, that I wanted more of her sweet lady kisses and private hand-holds. And honestly, it was kind of lonely without her. She was still having sex with Puck on occasion, too, even though they weren't dating anymore, which took up a couple of her nights. I didn't know what to do, and I didn't know how to say any of this to her. Then it hit me- and I'm surprised it took me that long to realize it. _Santana _was allowed to sleep with other people because we weren't dating… didn't that mean I could do more than kiss other people, too?

So… I decided to have sex.

I didn't want a repeat of Santana's first time, of course. She hadn't told me and I'd been mad at her, and I didn't want her to be mad at me for the same thing. I was a bit nervous, though, so I decided to write her a note instead. Plus, I hadn't seen her a lot that day and it seemed easier. I wrote it during third period and put it into her locker – we had always known each other's codes – before going to my next class. I didn't hear anything about it during the day, but that wasn't too weird because she didn't usually go in her locker that often. Of course, that meant waiting longer, and I was really nervous. The whole rest of the day I was distracted and forgot things like my schedule and stuff. I was so distracted I even forgot we didn't have Glee after school that day and I sat in the choir room for two hours by myself before the janitor came by and reminded me.

I went to the locker room for my Cheerios stuff first, left behind after morning practice. I had just plucked a spare hair tie from the bottom of the locker when suddenly it was slammed closed and I was being stared at by an angry Latina. I still don't know how she'd known to look for me there or why she'd been there still two hours after the end of school, but there she was. "What the hell is this?" she snapped, waving the note in my face. I blinked and, taking her question literally, studied it.

"Well, it's a note," I said slowly.

"I know it's a fucking note!" she snapped, staring down at the words I'd scribbled earlier that day. It was written in bright blue crayon (because blue was Santana's favorite), and read simply 'Dear San. I've decided to have sex. Love, B.' "What the hell is this shit, Britt? You just _decided _to have sex? When? With who?" It looked like my plan had backfired, because Santana was angry. Probably the maddest she'd ever been about something I did. It made me uncomfortable, being the focus of that anger, but I was also confused as to why she was mad in the first place. She had sex. Why was it bad if I did?

"I don't know," I replied with a shrug, zipping up my Cheerios gym bag. "Matt Rutherford, maybe. Or Mike Chang. Probably Mike. He's a better dancer." It didn't really matter to me who. Sex didn't seem like a big deal and I didn't know why Santana was making a big deal out of it when she did it all the time with Puck- and a few other people here and there, if she felt she needed that boost. I already had the reputation because I was friends with Santana and because I had kissed pretty much everyone in school, so why not? That was my reasoning, anyway. That didn't fix the fact that Santana was not happy with this and she didn't have any trouble showing it.

"Britt, you can't just _decide _to have sex," she said, using that voice she used when she was trying to explain something to me. "It should be important. Special."

I only looked at her, not believing the words. "Why not? You did it with Puck and it wasn't special. You did it because he's popular." I shrugged again, shouldering my bag. I kind of regretted saying it after, even though it was true, because Santana looked kind of upset.

"I dated Puck," she said quietly.

"You weren't dating him then. And you aren't now."

"That doesn't matter, Britt. That isn't the point." She folded her arms across her chest, standing stiffly in front of me. We stood there in awkward silence. I didn't understand her logic and she didn't want to say any more. She had to speak up, though, because I obviously wasn't going to say anything. "_Your _first time should be special, B. You deserve for your first time to be special."

It seemed I was having a hard time talking to Santana that day because I could only shrug again. How many times had I done that already? "It won't be no matter what I do," I replied before moving to walk around her. She grabbed me by my elbow though and spun me around fast enough that my bag slid off my shoulder and skidded across the floor. She was angry again, I saw as I stared at her. Why was she angry again? I had just said the truth, something we'd always done. I didn't get why she was mad about any of this. The word hypocrite didn't come to mind then (I didn't know that word), but that was how I was feeling about all of this. She wasn't being fair.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snapped, glaring at me. "Of course it matters, Britt. If you pick the right person, it'll be special and all that gooey shit. You don't have to have sex to be popular. You're friends with me. We're already popular."

"It won't matter," I repeated, shaking my head. "It won't be special." My eyes met hers. "It won't be you."

I had surprised her. It's funny because I'd never really been able to surprise her before. She knew me, and I wasn't the best at secrets, but the look she wore then looked like I'd just reached out and slapped her- she was that shocked. Except at the time, it wasn't funny at all. I'd finally told her what I wanted – her – and she seemed unable or unwilling to reply. She couldn't even meet my eyes, her own focused on the far wall. I moved to pull away from her and grab my bag again so that I could leave, but her fingers tightened on my arm and held me still. She used that arm to pull me around and shove me back against the locker. It didn't hurt, but it surprised me and I opened my mouth to object.

I didn't get a single word out. Her lips were already crushing mine. I remember being the shocked one then, to the point I couldn't even remember to kiss her back. This wasn't what I'd been expecting from her, but there we were. Her free hand was at the back of my head, drawing me in, and the hand that had been gripping my arm now fisted in the material of my uniform top. My own hands flew up to grip her hips and pulled her flush against me when she tried to pull away again, my head shaking once to tell her not to move though I wasn't able to really speak. I was confused- as usual, my body was ahead of my mind, responding without my brain telling it to. "I want it to be special for you, B," she whispered. My eyes flickered back and forth between hers, absorbing what she'd said, trying to get what she meant. I must have looked as confused as I felt because she kissed me softly… and began to show me.

I didn't understand a lot, but I understood Santana. Despite the confidence her expression portrayed, the tremor in her hands was enough to tell me she was nervous. Possibly just as nervous as me. I was shaking non-stop, little shivers shooting through my body as her fingers moved to the zipper of my skirt. Still, neither of us stopped it. I don't think either of us wanted to or would be able to stop if we did. I finally got what she was doing and I knew this was exactly how it was meant to happen. It was supposed to be her. She had soft, gentle hands. They undressed me slowly, easing down zippers and sliding over flesh. Her eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them as she watched her own actions, drinking in everything she was uncovering as she went. We'd seen each other in less before – in the locker room, at sleepovers when they changed, at the pool – but it had never been like this. I wanted to know what she was thinking, but I was breathing too fast to ask her.

At last she let my skirt free and dropped my top behind her somewhere. I stepped out of the skirt carefully and she kicked it aside. Her fingers trailed slowly over my skin, so lightly that she almost wasn't touching me at all. Then she leaned in and pressed a kiss to my shoulder, lips pausing there. I thought maybe she was doing the same as me- taking in the feel and smell and taste of it all. It was like my senses were on overdrive, every little detail multiplied by ten. The metal of the locker was cool against the heated flesh of my back and Santana was warm against my front. Her mouth was soothing and her trailing hands were lighting fires everywhere they went. I could hear that her breathing was as ragged as mine right beside my ear. "You're so beautiful, Brittany," she whispered. Usually I didn't like the sound of my full name from her, but this time it only brought a rush of warmth. I could feel her kissing her way up my neck before her lips met mine again, hands carefully taking off the rest of my undergarments. I didn't think then how crazy it was that we were doing this in a semi-lit locker room, a place anyone (well, anyone who was a female) could walk into. Somehow I don't think it would have mattered to me even if I had thought of it. I was completely absorbed with Santana.

Santana eased one of her legs between mine, gently edging them apart. My own arms flattened against the lockers, sweat-dampened palms pressing against the metal as I opened my eyes and made a little sound of panic. I was scared. I had never done this before. "Shh, baby." Santana knew me. She dropped her forehead against mine, fingers stroking my cheek softly as she soothed me. The pet name surprised me and I stared at her. As if reading my mind – it probably wasn't that hard – she smiled and pressed a small kiss to my lips. "It's okay. I promise." I nodded and she smiled again, her hands running comfortingly over my sides. Then they gripped both of my hands, drawing my arms up around her neck, giving me something to hold onto.

We were looking at each other when one of her hands slid down and cupped me. I gasped and my head fell back against the locker. Her free hand stroked my hair and back as she slowly eased into me, letting me adjust. Never once did her soft, dark eyes leave mine, as if looking away would break the spell we had over each other. When she moved, I gasped again, my knees buckling. Santana was there, her still-clothed body pressing into mine to hold me up against the locker as her fingers moved in and out. She was so careful, so gentle with me. I clutched at her, scared and happy all at the same time. It was… it was beautiful. It was special. It was all I'd ever wanted for my first time. As the pleasure built and built, becoming too much, overwhelming me, she was there. She whispered soothing words, lips sprinkling soft kisses over my face and neck. And when it peaked and I began to fall from those death-defying heights, she was there to ease me back down to earth, helping me to ride it out. I slid down the length of the locker and she went with me, gathering me against her. We were both breathing hard and I was crying from the pure perfection of it and Santana was still there stroking my hair and kissing my tears away.

"That was super special, San," I said when I could manage it, though the words slurred together. I almost sounded drunk- which I guess I was, in a way. Drunk and high off of all the emotions flooding through me. The other girl smiled at me, softly, and cupped my cheek to draw me in for a long kiss. After, she helped me dress again, slowly, lingering over the job. We were in no hurry. After, we sat on the floor again with our arms around each other. My head rested against her shoulder and I traced patterns over her stomach, content to stay their all night if she wanted to. "Hey, San?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

There was a pause before Santana nodded slowly. A sigh escaped her. I felt her chest deflate with it beneath my head. "I know. But B… This doesn't change anything. I mean… Sex isn't dating." Her voice was soft, and I thought maybe a little sad. I closed my own eyes as I absorbed the words, but for once I wasn't surprised. Maybe I wasn't smart, but I'd grown since our first kiss. I knew her and I knew this wasn't going to change us. Not more than physically. It was sad, and I wanted to change it, but what could I do? Nothing. I just had to accept the parts of Santana I had.

"I know."

**ALSO: This chapter is dedicated to Hailley because I was a bit wishy-washy on how I wanted to do it and she helped me out. SO IF YOU LOVE THE CHAPTER YOU SHOULD PROBABLY SAY THANKS TO HER. Less-than-three**


	4. Feelings

**Sorry. Yeah. Long wait. This is moving in a little bit of a different direction than I thought it would. Lololol. Don't worry, I'm finishing it. Probably just past episode fifteen or sixteen (hopefully fifteen works out how we all want it to, fingers crossed) I'll start to wrap it up. Maybe do a future chapter. More on that later. Enjoy~**

We were seventeen the first time I asked her,

_Then what _is _dating?_

It was a question in my head since we were thirteen, but I never asked until our sophomore year. Now, I can't really tell you what Santana was feeling. I can try and I can tell you what I think she was feeling. They're pretty good guesses, but they're still only guesses. Santana is really kind of hard to see through- even for me sometimes. But if I had to guess, I'd say Santana was scared. It's funny, because most people would tell you Santana is a fearless bitch. They'd be wrong. One hundred percent wrong. Santana was scared of a lot of things. She was scared of what we were doing, scared of what we were becoming. Scared of me. Scared of herself.

Scared of being alone.

We were having sex. Enough that she started coming to my house a lot more, which meant she was seeing Puck less. Sometimes she'd see us both on the same night, or she'd see some other guy before climbing through my window. Either way, she would always end her night with me. On those nights, the nights I had to share, she'd taste like cigarettes and spearmint when she kissed me. Sometimes the kisses would be a bit sloppy and I'd taste alcohol on her tongue. And then sometimes – rarely, but often enough for me to notice – she tasted like lonely.

That was the flavor I hated most and the only one I could make go away just by being with her. On those nights she'd come through my window (sometimes gracefully, sometimes stumbling a little) and she'd strip off whatever outfit she was wearing before she even got to my bed. Then the dark-haired girl would crawl in, pin me to the mattress, and kiss me hard. The lonely taste usually went hand in hand with cigarettes and spearmint, foreign flavors that meant she'd been kissing Puck or some other guy. Her kisses would be desperate, her grip tight. Sometimes I'd be asleep and wake up to this and I'd always know immediately that she tasted like lonely. I wonder if she noticed how I would gentle the kiss, trying to comfort her, trying to tell her I still wanted her. It worked either way because then her grip would loosen and my hands would be free and I could reach up to stroke her hair and back and cheeks. I'd say something simple to her. Just a little thing like 'hi, San' or 'I missed you, San.' It was enough. I'd keep it soft on those nights, take the lead, sooth her. Eventually that lonely taste would go away from her mouth and we would love each other slowly with quiet whispers and gentle touches. It was beautiful. But I don't know if she saw all of that like I did.

Sometimes she'd remind me after of the rule- sex is not dating. She'd whisper it when we were calm again and holding each other, listening to the sounds of nighttime. Sometimes it was in response to something I said. Mostly, though, she said it out of nowhere. Like, we'd just be lying there and she'd whisper it into the silence between us, like she didn't want to say it but needed to get it out. I wonder if she even meant me to hear those times. In my head I would wonder if she could like… _hear _how much I loved her because the words would be repeating so loudly in my head and it wouldn't have surprised me to learn that Santana had magical mind-reading abilities. Later, though, I figured out she was saying it to herself. To remind herself of whatever it was she thought she had to keep in mind when she was with me. And sometimes (usually on the lonely tasting nights) she would be gone when I woke up again.

I wasn't exactly happy about where we were, but I wasn't like constantly upset about it either. I loved Santana and, for the rest of sophomore year, I was content to take what I could get. I was patient and she, in turn, never lied broke a promise to me. After all, Santana was more than the person I loved. She was my best friend. Though our private togetherness had changed a whole lot, our friendship hadn't- not then. We'd still link pinkies walking down the hall. She'd still stretch her tan legs over my lap or rest her head on my shoulder. A few little things slipped through – the stroke of an arm, a lingering hug, an unguarded smile – but never something that led to suspicion. I slipped only once, on a party call with some of the Glee kids, but nothing really ever came of it. They were all distracted by Quinn's baby stuff and I guess they thought I had mixed something up or gotten confused again. Maybe they thought I didn't know what sex was- which is silly because I had such a slutty reputation in the school. Santana didn't get mad at me for it. She probably thought it was an accidental slip. I don't know. I never brought it up again and I never told anyone else… but it wasn't an accident. I'd just… I'd wanted someone else to know what was going on, wanted someone to know there was more going on between us. But it blew over and I'd gone back to keeping it a secret. No way could I get away with slipping twice.

I was so distracted by the stuff with me and Santana that I forgot about Coach Sylvester's plan to end Glee Club- consequently one of my favorite things about school. Santana never forgot. She wasn't like me. Maybe she had a million things to think about, even more than I did, but she never forgot any of it. Her priorities changed, but she never forgot a thing. Coach knew. She must have, because when she did things like ask for the list of songs for sectionals, she went to me instead of Santana. And without a thought, without a question, I gave it to her. Santana trusted her and I wanted to trust her, too. I wanted to believe the person Santana wanted most to impress was someone who deserved that level of affection from my best friend. But she wasn't, of course. We won sectionals, but it had been lucky, and if we'd lost it would have been my fault. Santana tried to make me feel better when we were struggling to work out choreography, but I could tell it was hard on her. _Glee is the best part of my day, okay? _She'd said that, and I had almost destroyed it all. When we won, though, Santana was happy again and everything was okay. She didn't go anywhere else that night- she went straight back to her place and we celebrated with wine and movies and a lot of sex.

The day we found out Sue Sylvester was a judge for regionals, Santana cried. At school it was like it didn't matter, but when we lay curled up in her bed, surrounded by the silence of her empty house, she cried like a child. She curled up on my lap and burrowed into me and sobbed out her aching heart, and I had to be strong because as sad as I was that glee club would probably be shut down, it was nothing compared to what she was feeling. Glee was different to her than it was to me. It was a haven. It was where she could show a bit of who she was without wearing the mask she'd carefully devised for herself. The wall was still there, but sometimes the club created little cracks the world could see through if they bothered to look.

The day we were told New Directions was safe, she cried again. That time, I cried with her. We cried and cried. We cried until we laughed. We held each other. And she kissed me, so softly. And for the rest of the night we just held on, whispering nonsense, pressed close on her living room couch. We didn't list rules or think of the future. We just held on, our hearts beating in sync.

A lot happened the summer after sophomore year which I guess really didn't help what happened junior year at all. My family went on vacation (though I said something about getting lost in the sewers later. It was a joke, and I learned that time that people as ditsy as me shouldn't make jokes like that because people are quick to believe it) and they told me they couldn't bring Santana because we needed family time. I explained that Santana was family, but they didn't budge and I was forced to leave Santana by herself for most of the summer. She blew it off and said she was fine, but I knew it was a lie. Her parents usually took a vacation to Europe over the summer and they never brought her, so she was even more alone than usual. I called her every night, but that didn't help. She would ignore her phone for days on end. Then one day, she called me. Her voice was quiet and sad on the voicemail. _I did something stupid, _the message said. I could just manage to hear her choke on a sob and my worry was instant. I didn't even listen to the rest, but quickly called her back.

"B," she said when she answered, breath hitching. "I'm so dumb."

"What happened?" I asked her.

"I was joking, B. I was joking, trying to get a reaction, trying to… I don't know… get them to fucking _look_ at me for once." Another sob, and I wished I was there to comfort her. All I could do was listen, though. It was the only thing I could do to help her from my stupid vacation. "I said 'Gee, mom and dad, I really want a boob job.' And you know what they did? Just fucking _guess!" _She yelled the last bit, making me flinch as I clutched the phone tightly, as if by holding it tighter Santana would know I was trying to get to her. "They said, 'okay, Santana. Whatever you want. We'll make you an appointment.' They just… They just agreed to let their seventeen-year-old daughter get a fucking _boob job _without batting a goddamned eyelash, B! I was… I was so mad, Britt, so mad at them for letting me do something stupid. But I figured, I thought, wh-what the hell? I'm the captain now. People are gonna fucking notice me at the top of the fucking pyramid. Might as well make sure they fucking _notice. _So I went to the appointment. I got myself some new fucking boobs." She was choking on her tears now, and I knew she was clutching the phone just as tightly as I was. I wanted so badly just to hold her, to comfort her. But I was here and she was there, so what could I do? "What… What kind of parents do that?" she whispered brokenly.

And I thought, _bad ones who don't know what they're missing, _but I never said it. I just listened to her cry and told her everything would be okay. Even though sometimes not everything can just be okay again.

Soon enough though, school was starting again and I was home again. I didn't get to see Santana until the first day, though, and when I did… Well wow, yeah, people were going to notice. I didn't focus on her new chest any longer than that first glance, but other people sure did. That Jacob kid was very interested (hence my random joke about getting lost that he seemed to believe). Santana gave me a weird look, but when he left again, she smiled a little and squeezed my hand quickly before helping me organize my schedule. Not too long after that, Coach Sylvester found out and all hell broke loose because Quinn got Santana moved from the top to the bottom of the pyramid. I could only watch helplessly as my two friends tossed each other around. I could only half-heartedly attempt to intercede with a plea for them to stop the violence because I hated seeing it, hated being involved. When Santana stormed off, I followed her to the locker room. She slammed things around, screaming, as I watched helplessly. Her fists and feet battered against the lockers in her fury, fiercely, until she at last slid to the floor in a pile of insecurities I could do nothing about. I held her, thinking how strange the universe was- because just last year Santana had held me in this same spot after I'd told her I loved her.

Now most of this was pretty pointless back story. They were moments that stuck out, and individually they don't mean much. I'm sure a lot of people would look at this and think, Brittany's rambling again, what's the point, this is dumb. I don't know if they make sense as a whole to a lot of people, but they were all moments that made a difference somehow. They were highlighted changes, things that showed me how I felt and how Santana felt. They're important because it makes the rest make more sense. At least, I think so.

Because what happened next was Artie.

I can't even begin to explain how excited I was about the duets assignment. Once the initial duet/duvet confusion was cleared and I understood the assignment, I began thinking of songs. Santana and I always did our assignments together and with the winner getting a free trip to Breadstix (Santana's favorite restaurant and notorious date spot), I thought it was perfect. Then we could go on a date without thinking of it as a date because it would be a prize. It was a perfect idea in my head and I was super happy I'd be able to sing and dance with Santana in front of everyone. I even asked Santana to come straight home with me after school because of it, though I was still thinking of songs so I didn't see how distracted she was as she nodded and looked around the choir room. At my place, we ended up doing what we usually did. That is, we ignored homework in favor of each other. It was making out instead of sex, which I totally didn't mind because it was a lot easier to think when we were both clothed. Santana's lips were on my neck, pressing to my skin softly. I loved when Santana did this sort of thing. The soft, sweet things that showed me it was more than just sex to her. I was grinning, I couldn't help it. "I love your sweet lady kisses," I told her lightly, as I still sometimes did. She made a sound of agreement and lifted her head to look down at me.

"It's a nice break from all that scissoring," she said, teasing me because scissoring was the very least of what we did and not exactly my preferred method of sex with Santana. She leaned in, her lips hovering close to mine before she returned her attention to my neck instead, lips curving against my skin. I giggled, my hand sliding a little down her back to press her closer as she continued her kisses. I was blissfully unaware of what was to come. In my mind, it was like completely automatic that we were going to be working together on this assignment.

"We should do a duet together," I said cheerfully. Santana stiffened and ignored me. I didn't notice, not right then. I just kept talking. "We should sing Melissa Etheridge's 'Come to My Window'." The results were instant. Santana jerked her head back, giving me a rather annoyed look. I blinked at her, my smile slowly fading as my gaze flickered over her increasingly irritated features. My heart was slamming, but the pleasure of the moment was starting to decrease.

"First of all," she began, staring harshly down at me. There was a warning in her eyes I didn't understand. "There's a lot of talking going on… and I wants to get my mack on." Apparently she was satisfied that I was going to stop talking because her lips went back to my neck as I took a shocked moment to recover. Did that mean we weren't going to sing a duet? Not anything? I thought I had messed something up again and I struggled to correct myself.

"Well- I don't know," I choked out, "I figured that-"

"And second of all…" Obviously annoyed, she rolled away from me and moved to the edge of my bed, back to me. "I'm not making out with you because I'm in _love _with you and want to sing about making lady babies." My heart dropped into my stomach as I rolled onto my side, my head resting against my fisted hand as I stared at her back. She wouldn't look at me. She was scraping her hair back into the customary ponytail of the Cheerios, something I knew was her defense mechanism. I was hurting. Santana had never told me she loved me, but she'd never so blatantly told me that she wasn't. I was fighting tears, struggling with the disbelief filling me as she went on. "I'm only here because Puck's been in the slammer for about twelve hours now and I'm like a lizard." _Cold_? I thought. "I need something warm beneath me or I can't digest my food."

"Then who are you going to sing a duet with?" I managed to ask over the tears caught in my throat, my eyes falling away from her and toward my window. I couldn't look at her anymore. I heard her stand and move across the room, saw her enter my line of vision. My gaze shifted again to the spot she'd been sitting a second before. I didn't want to look at her.

"I don't know. Probs like, Wheezy or Asian chick." My eyes flickered back to her, my disapproval at her nicknames automatic. Then the sadness settled over me again and I looked away. "Britt, it just isn't a good idea for us to sing gay songs like that together. People will think we're totally dykes, you know?" I only stared at her, not caring, wanting her to change her mind and come back to the bed. She shrugged uncaringly. Her mask was in place. "I'm protecting us both. Trust me." I was sitting up now, my arms curled around my pulled up legs, the tears finally falling down my cheeks. She made some sound of annoyance, tossing her hands in the air. "I'm not throwing away all the work I've done to keep this thing just between us so you can suddenly turn all butch on me, Brittany," she snapped. "I'm doing the right thing here!" I wiped at my tears, silent, and for a minute something flickered across her face. She shifted, as if she wanted to go to me. Then another annoyed sound escaped and she slammed out of my bedroom, out of the house, and into her car. A moment later, it started up and was gone.

So, Artie. He was cute, in a nerdy kind of way. I didn't dislike him and he was really the only guy I could think of that Santana would see me with constantly. I wanted her to feel something when she saw me with someone else, someone not her. Since I was dating Artie now (sort of), I didn't sleep with her or make out with anyone else. And okay, I wasn't completely stupid. Maybe I didn't know math or stuff like that, but I knew people, and I knew Artie was using me just as much as I was using him. He wanted Tina and I wanted Santana. It was perfectly okay in my mind for us to use each other to get who we actually wanted to pay attention to us. The only problem was, it didn't seem to be working for Artie. I panicked the day he wanted to back out. I couldn't let him, not when it was working so well. So I did the only thing I could come up with at the time. I had sex with him. He was the first guy I actually went that far with and I didn't really like it, but that was okay. He didn't leave after that and even though he wasn't soft and curvy like Santana, even though he didn't know the best way to make my body happy, even though he couldn't wrap his legs around my waist, he was someone to hold onto. I thought, well, maybe Santana would notice this. Maybe Santana would want me. Maybe she would _love _me. And if not… Well, there was Artie to hold.

When he dumped me, I was super confused. I got that my reputation was a bit rough, but how could he say that sex wasn't important to me? I had only ever done it with Santana before, and that had always been special. I stared at him as he rolled away, wondering how I always managed to mess up good stuff.

"Britt." I turned at the sound of my voice, staring as Santana moved into my line of vision with her arms folded across her chest. She was smirking as she, too, watched Artie roll away. "Thank God you got rid of the crip." She looked smug, satisfied. And suddenly it hit me who Artie's reliable source was. I knew people. I knew Santana. I could only stare at her, and because she knew me, she knew she'd been caught. Her smirk slowly faded and her dark eyes returned to mine, searching.

"Why would you do that?" I whispered brokenly. This was not at all how I'd wanted any of this to turn out. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. I'd expected a fairy tale and got a nightmare. "Why would you tell him bad things about me, San? How could you…" I dropped my eyes to the hallway floor when they began to burn. "Did you ever consider maybe I liked him? Maybe I wanted to be with him? I don't belong to you."

Santana scoffed, moving closer to me. When I looked up, I could see the emotions raging in her dark eyes as she looked around to make sure no one listened to us. The bell had rung, however, and no one lingered in this hallway. "You don't like him, B. You were with him to make me jealous. I get it, okay? I'm sorry I hurt your feelings or whatever, but can we drop this act? You don't want him. You want me." She reached out to loop our pinkies, but my hand smacked hers away. I don't know which of us was more surprised, but I went with it anyway because I didn't want her to be right. Just this once, I wanted to be the right one.

"So what, San? So what if I want you? That doesn't mean _anything. _We aren't dating. You have so many stupid rules. Our pinky thing doesn't mean we're dating. Kissing doesn't mean we're dating. Even sex doesn't mean we're dating!"

"Britt, shh," she hissed pleadingly. "Come on, I just-"

"No!" Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stepped back, just enough so I was out of reach. "San, I'm so tired of this. I'm so tired of all these rules and I'm sick of you leaving and I'm sick of you just like, leading me on again and again only to go off in a different direction when you're scared. If all of that isn't dating, San… If my loving you isn't dating, if _feelings _aren't dating, then what is? What _is _dating? I'm so confused and I just… I can't keep doing this with you. I can't."

"B-"

But I was already walking away. For once, for the very first time, _I_ was going to leave _her_.

**So ends another chapter. What do you think? Angsty enough? I was totally listening to Landslide on repeat the entire time I was writing. ALSO I am going to ask this again because no one said anything. Final chapter, San's POV? y/n? Lemme know. **


	5. Forgiveness

**Okay, so. Based on responses, the last chapter WILL be written in Santana's POV. c: Awesome. Also, if the angst is making you antsy, I recommend reading Peanut Butter and Fluff, my baby!brittana fluff fic I posted a few months back. c: Now hereee is chapter five. This is mostly a behind-the-scenes of the Rocky Horror episode (which means the style is a little different from the other chapters) because I thought their sudden make-up from Duets to RHGS was really abrupt and WHY? WHERE IS THE MAKE-UP? Well, I re-watched the episode and decided this is what happened. It's totally canon. Roll with it. (You could also watch the scenes I detailed in this chapter and see that I pretty much did it expression for expression. I was really annoyed with the lack of continuity and needed desperately to make up for it haha.) **

We were still seventeen when I forgave her.

It didn't take too long. It was only a little while after that Mr. Schuester told us we were doing Rocky Horror as a school musical, which was kind of cool and kind of weird at the same time. Santana and I had seen it like eight million times and my eyes automatically went to her went he told us. I had sat as far away from her as possible (I was between Artie and Kurt, and she sat behind Quinn and Sam. I don't know why Artie had rolled up next to me, but he acted like he'd forgotten the whole breakup thing and I didn't bother reminding him). But Rocky Horror was kind of our thing and I wanted to share the moment with her. I was surprised to find when I turned to face her that her eyes were on me too. We smiled, something moving between us briefly before we faced Mr. Schuester again. I remembered I was supposed to be mad at her, but I couldn't help smiling. Maybe it wasn't really a good show for school, and maybe I didn't really one hundred percent understand what it was about (Santana said most people didn't, so that was okay), but it was something Santana loved. Something we loved together. And suddenly I wasn't as mad at her anymore. Because she'd been looking at me, no one else, and I knew she still cared.

Mr. Schuester gave us our parts then and we were Columbia and Magenta, which meant we'd have to hang out a lot. It made me feel a little nervous because I'd been avoiding her and suddenly we'd have to be together. Quinn, Mercedes, and Tina would be there, too, sometimes, but we knew he'd pair me and Santana for scenes and then Quinn, Mercedes, and Tina (until Mercedes got a different part and then it was just Quinn and Tina) for the other scenes. He didn't notice a lot when it came to us, and so he didn't really notice we hadn't been talking for like a week. It didn't help that I wasn't a good grudge-holder. I tried to stay mad at her. A week was the longest I'd ever been able to, and I wanted to stay mad because she'd really hurt me and she'd done something really mean. It was hard, though. I just wanted to be close to her again. I missed her crawling through my window, which I now kept locked with the blinds down and curtain closed. I missed her sweet lady kisses and her soft touches and cuddling in my bed. I missed just talking to her every day. Because Santana was my best friend before she was the person I loved, but because I loved her, we weren't being best friends anymore. It was the hardest thing I had ever done, and the most confusing, and I was going to fail.

It happened after school that day. Santana was sitting on the bench in front of our lockers in the locker room, her back to the door so that she didn't see me walk in. I hesitated, staring, wanting to just go to her and wrap my arms around her and be with her right where she'd touched me for the first time. Her legs were crossed and I could see her foot tapping impatiently on the other side of the bench. Her arms were drawn up and I guessed she had them folded over her chest as she sat there, waiting for something. Probably me, since Quinn's locker wasn't next to ours. "San, what are you doing?" My voice made her jump and she spun to face me, nearly falling off the bench. I couldn't help but giggle at her annoyed scowl as she stood up and re-crossed her arms. I stepped closer, curious even with my need to stay angry. Santana hadn't waited for me like this since our fight, which I thought maybe was because she was avoiding me too. So it was weird to see her now, not in Glee or our shared classes or at Cheerio practice, but on our own time when we didn't need to be seeing each other. "San?" I asked again when she didn't answer, a bit weirded out because she'd been staring at me. "You okay?"

"Yeah, Britt." She shook her head and I shrugged and moved around the bench toward my locker. I knew she was still looking at me, but I was only here to pick up my Cheerios stuff. "I was waiting for you, actually." The fact she'd admitted it caught my attention and I looked toward her with my hand on the spinner of the locker door. She was looking at me with steady, dark eyes, though I could see those insecurities too even though she tried to hide them. I knew Santana. So I turned toward her and leaned back against the lockers with my arms folded and stared back at her. It was really hard to look and not touch, but I wrapped my hands around my elbows and kept them to myself. Santana was talking to me first. I knew that was a big deal, and I just had to… wait a little longer.

"Why?"

"Because… Well, Schue said we're Columbia and Magenta." Her chin jerked up and she smirked, but I could tell she was actually nervous now. Most people don't know that to read Santana, you have to look in her eyes. You could see the feelings there better than anywhere. I looked into them then and continued to stare, my head tilted. "So we should like rehearse and stuff and- fuck it. Britt, are you still pissed at me?" I didn't say anything, and I knew she couldn't read my expression. That was one thing I had over her- the blank look that took away all emotions from my face and eyes. Even Santana couldn't see past that. "_Why? _Britt, I did you a fucking favor! Artie's a jackass. Just because you had pity sex with him-" her eyes flashed with anger at that, which I thought was interesting- "doesn't mean he's any less of a sexist pig. He would treat you like shit eventually, and besides, he was using you to get between Asian one and Asian two. You shouldn't be mad. You should be fucking _grateful."_

"San, you were really mean. You said bad things about me. You got some guy to tell Artie he slept with me when he didn't and he dumped me because of it." Remembering that hurt all over and I hugged myself tightly. She stared at me, and then looked down at her hands. For a minute, we were silent again. I was remembering. I thought maybe Santana was feeling guilty about the whole thing, but we weren't looking at each other so I couldn't be sure.

"Well, I didn't really think that part all the way through. I figured it would be the best way to get him away from you, and the fastest. I don't like him. I didn't like him with you and I didn't know what else to do. It was bad, but… Look, I'm sorry, okay?" I looked up at her again, drawn in by her rare apology. She looked frustrated with herself, a hand running over her ponytail. I knew, had her hair been down, she'd be shoving her hands through it then. "I didn't want him to treat you like shit. I didn't want him to have you. I was…" She trailed off and I straightened up off the lockers, waiting for her to say it. That was all I needed. That was all I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear her _say _she was jealous. I didn't care what she _didn't_ want- I wanted to know what she _did_. I wanted to know what Santana wanted. I wanted her to want _me_. But she couldn't say it. She stood there looking frustrated and sad and maybe a little scared and I knew she wasn't going to say it. I started to turn back to my locker, disappointed and hurt and unhappy, but she grabbed my hand before I could even move. "Britt." She stared at me and I stared back, waiting. Instead of speaking though she stepped forward into me, hand still locked around my fingers, and pressed her lips to mine.

And I caved.

The next day, we sat together again. Quinn noticed, but no one else seemed to be paying attention. We were too busy getting ready for the show and no one questioned our sudden friendship return. I couldn't stop looking at her, there, right next to me. I could reach out and touch her. I even did occasionally, my fingers brushing her arm or knee or hand, and it was a good thing we were in back or I really would have given us away that day. It was just so nice being able to be near her again. We hadn't really fixed anything, but I loved her and staying away from her was too hard when she kissed me like she had in the locker room the day before. My hand rested on her knee for like the third time that rehearsal, tracing it lightly, entranced by the feel of smooth skin beneath my fingertips. Mr. Schuester was calling Finn and Rachel up then and so I looked up, spotting Quinn staring at us from her place in the middle of the choir room. Her hazel eyes glanced down as she brushed the curly wig out of them, taking in the placement of my hand with a face I could not read (I didn't understand Quinn as well as I did Santana). Santana must have noticed too, because she brushed my hand casually away and folded her own in her lap before abruptly changing the subject.

"Oh, I cannot wait until Finn takes his top off so we can all see the hot mess underneath." That was pretty harsh, I thought, even as I laughed, because Finn was totally not in that bad of shape. He was tall, but not big. Still, it had drawn Quinn's attention to the two at the front of the room and away from us, which is what I figured Santana was doing. I decided to back her up because it was really my fault she had to be mean in the first place.

"You can't have sloppy joes every day for lunch and think you can get away with it," I said, and I could see Santana's smile even without looking at her. I could pretty much feel the warm way she stared at me, her eyes on the side of my face, and I blushed a little from the approval she was giving me. My teeth dug into my lip as I grinned and looked back at her, ignoring Rachel when she called us rude. It was true and I knew that, but I couldn't feel _too _bad when Santana smiled at me in her special just-for-you-Brittany way. I didn't look away until Quinn spoke up, mostly because her voice reminded me why we'd been rude in the first place and I became concerned she was going to draw attention to us. No such thing. She was actually defending us, which I thought was really weird until she rolled her eyes and looked back to us and I knew she hadn't forgotten.

Santana didn't seem to notice Quinn's stare. She was smirking, her arms crossed over her chest, which I knew meant she had something against someone. Tina commented and Santana then chimed in. "Yeah, earlier today, Artie-" The mention of his name had me frowning. I didn't want to talk about him. I didn't want Santana to say anything about him or make fun of him because she'd been jealous. He was a nice guy. I just didn't want him the way I wanted Santana. She went on, though, and I was shocked to hear what she said. "- asked if he could make a gigantic omelet when I'm done with the ostrich eggs I'm smuggling in my bra." I pulled back away from her slightly, disbelieving, but one look at Artie showed it wasn't a joke. She smiled at me as if to say _told you so _and I decided to change the subject. I said something about Sam and his gold shorts even as Santana continued to smile smugly in my direction and I couldn't help but smile back because, well, she was so pretty. No one seemed to notice, except maybe Quinn, which was starting to worry me a little. That didn't matter, though, really. Not right then. Not when Santana was leaning closer to me and trailing her finger over the sheet music in front of me while I mouthed the words. I knew this song really well because, like I said, we loved Rocky Horror. I didn't need her to help me like usual. Which I knew she knew, but her new spot leaning close to me allowed her to lean on my knee while our shoulders brushed so we weren't about to give up on pretending I needed help. It just meant that at the next rehearsal when the hot dentist guy auditioned, we had to sit far apart because of Quinn- but I didn't mind because Santana said 'wanky' and it was really hot when she said that. Plus, when we got to get up and dance, she came right to me and we danced together, so it wasn't too bad.

I really liked doing Rocky Horror a lot. Santana and I got to dance together on stage for once, and we got to rehearse together at night. That was really nice because we usually went to her house (since no one was ever home and we could blast music and sing along) and I got to hear Santana sing her beginning solo. I was totally in love with Santana's voice. It was so pretty and I wished she got to sing more solos so that everyone else could hear just how beautiful it was. Another good thing about these nights was that we were getting close again and that meant slowly getting back to where we were before- sweet lady kisses, wandering hands, really good sex. I had missed being close to her like that and I could tell she'd missed me too because she spent more time looking at me than taking my clothes off. I wondered sometimes what she saw when she stared at me for those long moments. I know I saw a beautiful girl with a lot of issues, a girl I loved. I wished she saw someone she loved, too.

Santana also seemed a lot more carefree after we got back to being friends. One time after school, she grabbed my hand and dragged me to the back of the school. There was a weird bend to our building where a small alley type thing was created in a kind of U shape by two connected parallel hallways. The only windows that looked out into this small space were the language classrooms, and no one was there after school. She dragged me into this little guarded alley and pressed me against a wall, kissing me hard. I wasn't about to argue with this. No one ever came back here and I really liked feeling her press against me like this. It went on for a while, her hands sliding under my Cheerio top and up towards my bra- before we heard the voices. Santana froze. I wondered who she thought would see us, since we'd ended up sliding down the wall to the ground beneath the windows, but she froze anyway. We must have realized at the same time who the voices belonged to because we both scrambled to our knees and looked slowly, slowly over the edge of the window at Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury. The window beside us was open, just a little, so every word poured out to us. When the music started, my grin went wide. I knew this song, and we were Columbia and Magenta- we were in it!

"_You mean she-?"_

"_Uh huh."_

We grinned at each other, staring through the window as the two teachers began to sing. Miss Pillsbury wasn't too bad at singing it, really, considering she was kind of a germaphobe freak and stuff. Mr. Schuester seemed pretty into it too, and I wondered if the hot dentist guy knew this was happening. I also wondered why Schue needed help with this song since Rocky didn't sing at all. "This is actually kind of hot," Santana whispered to me at one point between our lines and I smiled and nodded, eyes wide as I stared through the glass. These were teachers, and it was kind of weird, but this was the song Santana had been singing to me the night before that had led directly to some really steamy wall sex. As if reading my mind, Santana ducked down again and tugged my skirt to get me to follow. I looked in at the teachers for a moment longer before easing down beside the Latina. She crushed her lips to mine and I laughed quietly against her, my hand resting at her waist. "Song isn't over," I whispered and she rolled her eyes, but we slid back up to continue with our part. It wasn't like the adults could hear us – they were busy stripping each other.

"_Down down down."_

We laughed and held on to one another, hands roaming almost playfully, eyes meeting. We almost got caught, but I looked back in time to see them coming and speedily ducked, Santana following my lead. "Shit, that was close," she breathed as we grabbed our duffel bags and ran from the little alcove, back into the school. Breathless, giggling, and pinkies linked, we spun down the hallway singing Toucha Touch Me. I love carefree Santana, with her bright smile and easy touches. I wanted her to be like this all the time, even with people there, even with everyone staring. She couldn't do it, I knew, but I wanted to hold on to the idea of it. I leapt up with a hand on her shoulder for the last word of my song and her arm went to my waist, pulling me around so my back was suddenly against a locker and we were kissing again. The laughter turned into smiles and I could taste the affection – the _love, _it had to be love – on her lips and I knew this was one of my most favorite moments between us. There was still reality somewhere in the distance, but right then, we weren't stressed or scared or sad or angry. We were just us, a _we _instead of a _her_ and an _I_, and it was beautiful and perfect and I didn't want it to end.

When Schue cancelled the show, I was super bummed. It meant no more late rehearsals with Santana and moments like the one in the hallway. We were still doing Time Warp Schue told us (again we were in opposite corners of the room because of Quinn being suspicious, but our eyes met while New Directions celebrated), but we didn't need to rehearse that really, and Santana didn't get her big, long solo anymore. It was lame, but it was okay. _We _were okay. At least for a little while.

But forgiveness isn't dating either. There was a lot more to come for us.

**OKAY SO. This is kind of a moment of non-angst filler, kind of an explanation for their sudden friendship restoration. This episode really bothered me when it came out because there was absolutely no explanation for how Brittany suddenly wasn't mad anymore and I HAD to justify. So, happy filler bonus chapter. c:**


	6. Love

**I spent Tuesday crying for hours, nbd. What a beautiful, beautiful episode. As I promised, I started this chapter as soon as fifteen was over (actually, I might have just promised that to myself, but whatever). I am still crying a lot, but it's okay. Oh, and to the Bartie troll who was trashing Santana via reviews on various Brittana fics… Go watch episode fifteen a few times. I have never seen a character feel so deeply on Glee before. I don't hate Artie, but I do hate fans who act the way you did when you trolled these Brittana fics. Step off my bb. I'm 100% in love with Santana right now. ALSO, since there was a lot of Brittana in fifteen, that episode will feature prominently and this will be a very **_**long **_**chapter. As usual, all sorts of spoilers here. **

Seventeen was a big year. Our junior year was a big turning point for us and I felt it even then. The problem was… Well, the problem was that we weren't changing fast enough. We'd fallen back into the same pattern as before. Santana was sleeping with me… and Santana was sleeping with Puck. She would crawl through my window and into my bed and I would smell him on her- spearmint, cigarettes, and sweat. The scent started to make me feel sick after a while. She would breathe and I would smell it and turn my head away from that first kiss. It was always a small, quick motion, but she must have noticed even though she never commented. After a while, she would come to my house with damp hair smelling like her soap and cinnamon gum instead. This was more familiar and I liked the fact she did it. That she showered before coming to me and washed him away. It was a small gesture, but it told me she cared and it was something. I don't know when I suddenly wanted more, but the fact it was missing bothered me. Not right away, but later. I was growing up, growing older, and my feelings for her grew. They got older and stronger and better and deeper and all those words people use to describe love when they're changing- when it's changing them. I told her I loved her a little more often, but she didn't ever say it back. It was always, "I know." She knew.

She knew, but we weren't going to change.

I don't really know how I ended up dating Artie again. I know that Santana and I went on a double-date with him and Puck one time, but that wasn't dating. Even weirder was being told I was dating him by Rachel Berry. I didn't know why she'd asked me and Quinn and Tina to meet her in the choir room before glee that day. She was talking about Kurt and Dave Kurofsky and the bullying stuff, and yeah, that much I got. It made me really sad to hear that Kurt was getting bullied because he liked boys instead of girls. At the time, it didn't hit me that his whole deal was exactly what scared Santana. It wouldn't for a while. I knew she didn't want to be called a lesbian or anything, but at the time it didn't strike me how similar we were to Kurt or that it was more than her damaged reputation that Santana was scared of. I was sad for him, and I thought it was a stupid reason for Karofsky to hate him, but I didn't relate- not then. I also didn't know what I was supposed to do about it. Until Rachel mentioned we were all dating guys on the football team. What? Maybe she hadn't meant to invite me because I wasn't dating anyone. Unless they thought I was dating Artie because he like, kissed me in the hallway that day? Or I kissed him, I guess, because I had to bend over to do it, but still. Kissing wasn't dating. I sat in silent confusion as Quinn spoke back to Rachel, trying to work out exactly what had happened. I wasn't listening to Quinn, I wasn't listening to Rachel. I was trying to figure out my life. I wasn't dating Artie, I knew that. But maybe if they thought I was, it would give Santana and me some freedom, some cover. So when Tina asked if I was dating Artie and Quinn's questioning eyes went briefly in my direction (the same eyes that had witnessed moments between Santana and I before, the same eyes that held such silent consideration whenever they saw Santana and I together), I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Deal with it." As if to prove it, I leaned over and murmured behind Quinn's back, "When you guys fooled around, did he ever like… just lie there?" Tina stared at me blankly and I could feel Quinn's eyes burning into me. She was staring and I knew she didn't believe it. I was trying hard to prove it, trying hard to make her believe I was dating Artie so that she wouldn't focus so hard on me and Santana. Looking back, I wonder if that sideways look was really disbelief, or if it had been a warning… because a second later, my heart froze. Someone was speaking, and it wasn't Quinn or Tina or Rachel or me. It wasn't Mercedes. It wasn't Miss Pillsbury. It wasn't even Coach Sylvester. Any of them would have been a better person to walk in at the moment I was talking to Tina about fooling around with Artie- which I wasn't doing, not then.

"Why didn't you tell me that we were having a glee girls meeting?"

My head whipped around and I stared at Santana. She wasn't supposed to hear that. I was supposed to tell her later about it so she'd know I was protecting our secret. So she'd know it was for us. Rachel wasn't supposed to tell her that it was a meeting for the glee girls with boyfriends. Santana wasn't supposed to look at me with that absolutely shocked expression. She wasn't supposed to say, "Okay, I'm dating Puckerman," her eyes on me, because I knew she wasn't. _Sex isn't dating, _I thought dully. Quinn looked briefly at me as Santana talked and then returned her eyes to her lap.

"You're… getting naked with Puckerman," she corrected. Reminded of her own rule, Santana could only roll her eyes and fold her arms defensively across her chest. I glared at Quinn. There was a line here and she didn't need to shove it in Santana's face. Quinn wasn't looking at me, though. She was looking at Santana, arms folded, a challenge. And even though Tina was speaking, Santana was glaring in return. Things had been shaky between them since the whole pyramid thing. I wanted to be mad at Quinn for turning Santana in, but… how could I blame her? She didn't know Santana did it because of her parents. She didn't know Santana was really insecure. Quinn was just doing what she had to do to get her spot back. She thought Santana could handle the competition because Quinn didn't know Santana like I knew her, and she didn't know Santana couldn't actually handle it at all. I looked back up at Santana when Rachel spoke again. She shot me a look and my heart twisted as she threatened Rachel and walked past us. She didn't look at me as she moved to the back seats in the room, or at any of us. I could see she was angry and shocked and, beneath the layers, hurt. Still, I could only watch her go by, my heart beating really fast because I wanted to jump up and go to her. But Quinn was watching her too- even Tina looked at her as she walked by. I couldn't go to her then. Later I would talk to her and get her to understand. It would be okay.

When Mr. Schuester let us out of glee, though, Santana left really fast. I went to follow her, but Quinn asked me to wait. So I waited. I didn't really know how to feel about Quinn around then. She had her own stuff going on and we – Santana and me – hadn't really been a part of that ever since Quinn got pregnant. I loved her- we were friends, even if we weren't as close anymore. I respected her- she was the squad's captain. I was afraid of her- she saw too much and knew too much. I think what worried me most was that I thought she would use what she saw between me and Santana to ruin Santana's reputation more and further secure her spot as captain. That was why I'd gotten so quiet around her- I was afraid of saying something that would get me in trouble. Something that would hurt Santana. "Brittany, you aren't dating Artie," she said softly, knowingly. It was weird, the expression she wore. It wasn't one I'd ever seen her wear. It kind of reminded me of my mom, all soft and sweet and concerned. And real. It was so real. I wondered how she could be so much like a mother when she hadn't even kept the baby she'd had the year before. "Why did you let Berry push you around like that? You should have just said something."

"I like Artie," I said with a shrug. It was true. He was a nice guy and I _did _like him… just not like you're supposed to like a boyfriend. "So maybe we are dating. We've had sex." Sex isn't dating. "We kiss sometimes." Kissing isn't dating. "Maybe I want to date him." I didn't really like the idea, but I hoped it would get Quinn to stop talking about it. She had seriously pretty eyes, I remember thinking. All golds and greens and browns. Santana's didn't have that many colors. Santana's were a deep, dark brown, almost black. Standing in front of Quinn in that moment, I compared the colors and thought about how different they were- and how often they looked the same. How often both of their eyes held that hard, determined edge. But Quinn's were soft then. They were sweet. They matched her weird motherly expression.

"Santana seemed kind of upset." I flinched. For a moment, I thought maybe she was trying to get me to spill, but looking at her then… I remember that she only looked worried. She didn't ask any questions of me, just looked concerned. And I realized that maybe she acted like she didn't like Santana very much anymore, but still secretly cared. I didn't say anything, though. I didn't want to say something bad. "Britt, you aren't dating Artie. Maybe you should tell her that."

"Why?"

The shorter girl shrugged. "I just think maybe it's something she should know." I watched her as she slid her duffel over her shoulder and headed toward the door, pausing to look at me over her shoulder. She was wearing her Quinn Fabray's in Charge face again, but her eyes stared at me as if she was looking for something. Or like she'd found something and was trying to figure out what to do with it. "Brittany… I would be happy for you, you know." And then she was gone, leaving me behind feeling confused and torn.

It didn't get any less confusing that week. Santana was ignoring me and I didn't know why. I mean, I knew it was because of the glee girls with boyfriends meeting, but I didn't know _why. _It wasn't like _I_ hadn't invited her because I hadn't known about it. I wasn't really dating Artie, but even if I was, why did it matter? That had never made a difference before. But she wouldn't talk to me and I couldn't explain and I was still trying to make everyone think I was dating Artie. I must have been really convincing because I think Artie thought we were dating, too. It just kind of happened that way. We were getting ready for the wedding song we were singing and he was just always _there, _wheeling around right next to me. And he was a nice guy. He was sweet to me. He paid attention to me. He held my hand and smiled at me and wasn't afraid to kiss me in the hallway. But he wasn't Santana. He could never be Santana.

I was looking for her the day of the wedding. I passed an open room in my search and stood still when I heard her voice. "If you were honest and told people that we did it last year, you'd go from uncool to chilly willy in a heartbeat." Finn. I remembered the time they did that. I'd even told Santana to go for it because I knew she'd needed something to feel secure with coach again. Sex wasn't dating, after all. But being reminded of it now, overhearing her talk about it with Finn, was sad. I leaned my back into the wall beside the door, my hands tucked behind my back as I listened. I knew I was frowning, but I couldn't get the sadness off my face.

"Brittany, are you okay?" Rachel. I looked over at her across the way and smiled vaguely, nodding. "Have you seen Finn?" I motioned to the doorway between us before realizing this was probably not a conversation Rachel should hear. I was too late to stop her, though. She was already heading in.

"I mean, if you two broke up, we'd be free to see each other, right?" My heart stopped at the words and I waited for Rachel to scream or demand someone explain everything to her, but she hadn't heard. And then Santana was leaving and I was too slow to move. Santana rounded the corner and nearly ran into me. We stood staring at each other and I was unsure what to say because we'd both been surprised by the sudden run-in. I watched her eyes shift from me to the door and back again, obviously trying to figure out if I'd been listening. Then she turned away without saying thing and started to move past me, away from me, and I couldn't just stay quiet and watch her ignore me again. I couldn't. I was confused and I didn't get why she was ignoring me.

"San." She paused but didn't look at me. My hand reached out, grabbed the inside of her elbow. Her arms unfolded and my hand ran down the inside of the one I held, curled over her fisted hand. There was a lot I wanted to say, but I wasn't good with words. What could I tell her? I couldn't sit and explain the whole Artie thing just then. Not when anyone could hear. Not there in the hallway where I could ruin it all. So instead, I said the one thing on my mind that had nothing to do with him. "You look super pretty today." Nothing happened for a minute. Then the tensed fist I held relaxed slowly and I was able to slide my fingers through hers, as I had when we were thirteen and she'd told me we couldn't do this anymore. Her hand squeezed mine once.

"I know," she replied, because she was Santana and no one had to tell her she was hot. I think she knew, too, that I was telling her more with that brief handhold than I said with my actual words. Her gaze moved to me and a small, small smile curved her lips. "You, too." And then she was dropping my hand and walking away again.

Life is made up of a lot of moments. You make a choice, you think a thought, you say a word, and that changes like… _everything_ that happens after it. I got to explain how the Artie thing happened eventually, but by then Santana had made a choice. A choice she wouldn't have made, I think, if I hadn't made the choice to pretend to date Artie. She told me that maybe it would be good for me to date him, that maybe it would make things better for me. She told me it was about time she had a boyfriend again too. Puck again, or maybe Finn. Dating popular boys on the football team, she said, could only do good things for our popularity. I didn't know what to think about that. I didn't know what to think about anything. I didn't want to stop having her close to me, not again, not after last time. She told me that she wouldn't let that happen, that of course we could still be together and it was silly to think otherwise. "We're best friends," she said to me as we tangled together on my bed, her mouth hot on my throat. "It's not even cheating." A hand slid between us, pressed between my legs as she rocked her body into mine. When a moan escaped me and I arched willingly into her, a smirk curled her lips as she brushed them teasingly over mine. "Because the plumbing's different. Relax." And then she kissed me again. I didn't think that was how it was supposed to work, but I didn't argue. I didn't want to admit I knew it was wrong because, oh God, I couldn't lose all of this. So I let myself believe Santana was right. Just like I think she was pretending it was true for her own sake as well.

So I started dating Artie for real and Santana and I continued on like nothing had changed. It got harder to spend time together, though, because Artie wanted to spend time with me. I don't think that was a problem Santana thought of ahead of time when she was planning all of this. I also don't think she realized she'd have a hard time fulfilling the part where she dated Finn or Puck or someone. She managed to break up Finn and Rachel, but Finn wasn't into the idea of dating her. Puck wasn't going to ask her out either- why date her, after all, when he could get what he wanted from her without being tied down? She was pouring a lot of time and energy into this. Meanwhile, Artie treated me a lot better than she had once told me. Well, he kind of treated me like a kid sometimes, but still. He was sweet, and he was trying. He let me play the I-believe-in-Santa game (for so long, in fact, Santana actually reminded me again that he was make-believe), which was fun and really kept my Christmas spirit up. He gave me a comb and claimed it was magic- a gesture I found sweet even if it was a little silly because he was trying to help me. I didn't have the heart to shoot him down. Of course, Santana didn't much like that particular gesture.

We were in Spanish class one day when I pulled it out, dragging it through my hair right before our quiz. Artie, sitting a couple of rows in front of me, noticed and shot me a smile, which I returned cheerfully. Directly to my left, however, Santana was frowning at me. "Britt, what the fuck are you doing?" she hissed. I looked at her, baffled, and replied that I was combing my hair. Wasn't it obvious? She narrowed her eyes slightly and reached out. "Give me that," she muttered. "Now isn't the time to brush your-"

"No!" I squeaked, snatching it back. "It's magic, you can't have it." I grinned at her as she scowled, hand hesitating.

"Britt, what the fuck are you talking about?" She was obviously confused and irritated. She probably thought I was messing with her or something because even I didn't believe in magic combs. Maybe I would have when I was a bit younger, probably longer than most people would, but certainly not at the age of seventeen. I decided it was best to explain before she could get mad about it.

"If you use this comb, you can't lose," I recited dutifully, shooting her a meaningful look as I set the comb down beside my notebook. "Artie gave it to me." Confusion turned to understanding and then to anger as she shot a look at the back of my boyfriend's head (and I think she muttered the word 'asshole', though I couldn't be sure). Her hand shot out and snatched up the comb, eyes turning back to me as she held it out, the end less than an inch from the tip of my nose as she stared at me. My lips twitched, but I managed to restrain the smile fighting to escape. Santana didn't seem able to form the words she wanted to say in response to this situation. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, brow creasing. In the end, she settled on a simple,

"No."

The comb disappeared into her pocket, and later the garbage. I avoided Artie for a bit after that in order to think of a good excuse for its absence, finally settling on motocross practice. It wasn't too bad of a lie, really, because I probably would have lost it there anyways if Santana hadn't already stolen it. I didn't feel so bad for letting Santana throw it out after he told me it had been found on the floor, but still. It was the thought that counted or something like that.

We weren't as close as we used to be by then. It hurt, but it would have bothered me more if I weren't so occupied trying to be a good girlfriend to Artie. I'd never been a girlfriend before – unless you counted that one time I'd "dated" Kurt – so I was learning how relationships worked. I liked it. I liked being able to be affectionate where everyone could see. I liked that he treated me nicely and took me out to dinner and introduced me all formally to his parents. I liked him, I really did, even if I loved Santana. Santana, though… Well, she didn't get to have that distraction and I think it was really getting to her. Sometimes, when I was on Artie's lap laughing over one of his jokes, I'd look beyond him for a split second to my best friend. Her jaw would be clenched and her arms would be folded and I knew there was _something_ going on under the surface that she wouldn't let anyone see. Her plans had backfired and she had no boyfriend. Even Puck had drifted away from her as his interest in Lauren Zizes grew, so she had lost both of our attention at the same time. The difference was, though, that Puck's eyes stayed on Lauren. Mine would leave Artie long enough to take her in, long enough to see she was alright, long enough to search her out and see if she'd come to her senses yet and realized that she had _always _been my first choice. But she never did. Puck was _hers, _and she didn't like her territory getting trespassed on. I don't know what that made me. There had been one time when that line had been crossed and she'd done something about it. I wondered why she was letting it happen now. Why she'd encouraged me to date Artie when she'd been the cause of us breaking up in the first place. It was as if she'd never been jealous all those months before, as if she'd never lied to Artie and gotten him to dump me. Suddenly it was as if she was _happy _for us, and I didn't get it.

Unfortunately, as time went on and we saw less and less of each other and I saw more and more of Artie and Santana saw none of Puck or Finn or anyone, she got more… Well, Santana-like. She was herself, only more mean, and I think it was starting to get to the glee club. It didn't help that we suddenly didn't have Cheerios anymore because we'd all quit- Cheerios, which had been Santana's life since freshman year. Cheerios, which she'd wanted to stay in when Sue made us pick. Cheerios, which I knew she'd agreed to quit because of me and that stupid cannon. She made it out like it was because of her being demoted, but I knew she respected Sue too much for that. She was mad. She was so mad. I'd known it when she'd jabbed at me about dying being worth it. I'd known it when she'd refused to look at me when we handed in our uniforms. Just as I'd known it had been for me when we'd walked away from Sue and she'd looked so sad but determined. Santana loved Cheerios- and now she didn't even have that. So she was angry and she took it out on glee club- which she would rather blame than me, I guessed. Glee club didn't know her, though. Not like I did. They didn't know all the anger came from other feelings. They didn't know like I knew that Santana was probably lonely, that she'd lost a lot, that she wasn't as strong as she tried to be. So they lashed out, too.

It happened the week of Valentine's Day. Finn was giving some speech about helping glee club out by making money with a kissing booth. Everyone made a face at that because we knew he wasn't doing it for us, and Mercedes made a comment. San jumped in too – still mad, probably, about the way her Finn plans had gone down – and I guess it was the last straw for Finn.

"Do you ever get tired of tearing other people down?" he asked coldly. I stared at him, unable to believe he was calling Santana out in front of everyone.

"No, not really," she returned quickly, her expression one of smug amusement. I don't think she realized how she sounded, how mad they'd all gotten with her. I think she figured they'd understand how much she'd given up for them and would accept that as apology enough for being… well, not nice. Distressed, I glanced back at Finn as he spoke again, and Santana as she said something about how everyone loved her. I wish I could have spoken up with her and agreed, but… well, it wasn't true. Maybe they liked her sometimes, but mostly… It was me who loved her. Me, and maybe Quinn in her own way.

"Actually you're just a bitch." This from Lauren. I winced and looked at Santana, saw the way her face went slack with surprise for just an instant before she turned to face the other girl in her usual manner. _My man_. Puck. This wasn't about him, I knew, but it was a comeback and Santana used it now. She would be struggling to understand what had happened just now- no one ever spoke back to her, but the sudden attack had everyone taking a dig. She must have been shocked, because I was. I couldn't form words, couldn't speak. Could only stare as they tore into her, tor her apart piece by piece. The words were harsh, but not anything she hadn't heard before. Just things she wasn't used to hearing all at once from people she trusted. Or had started to trust, at least. I could see that trust being destroyed now. It didn't matter that Santana had given up Cheerios for this club. Without her uniform, she was just another girl to them. Just another girl And I didn't understand that then because she could never be _just _anything to me. Their insults hurt me even as they hurt Santana and I folded my hands tightly in my lap, wishing for them to stop, as if they'd hear me if I thought it loud enough… they didn't. And it got worse.

"… But the only job you're going to have is working on a pole." I closed my eyes at that, feeling as if my heart was being squeezed in a giant fist or something, it hurt so bad. I waited for someone to speak up for her, but no one did. When I looked at her at last, she seemed to be looking for the same thing. Not a word from anyone.

"… Fine." And then she was grabbing her bag and heading out the door. No one moved to follow. I was shaking, my eyes on Mr. Schuester. _Do something_, I pleaded in my mind. _Say something. Why aren't you doing anything for her? _But there was nothing. He moved slowly to the board, unsure what to do and prepared to restart his lesson. I realized no one – absolutely no one, not even the people who claimed to be Santana's friends – was going to say anything. So… I did. I stood up, so abruptly that my chair flew back and tipped over into the one behind it. I felt all of their eyes on me and I knew they were surprised. I must have looked angry- because I was. And I never got angry. Even Mr. Schuester looked nervous at the way I suddenly walked forward a few steps and then turned on the club.

"Don't be mean to San." I said it quietly, but firmly. My gaze moved to each pair of eyes staring back at me, all of them surprised- especially Artie's… and except for Quinn's. She watched me with her hands folded in their habitual way across her stomach (a habit that hadn't gone away completely even though there was no more baby in her belly), eyes steady and knowing. I had to look away quickly or else I'd get worried. And if I got worried, I would forget my words. "Maybe she was mean to you, but that's how San is. You don't know her enough to say some of the things you said. Especially you, Rachel." I looked at the small girl, who watched me in what I guessed was shock. "San gets good grades. She's super smart. She has to be. She's going to be a lawyer or a doctor or... or… I don't know. But she won't be on a pole. Don't talk like that. You don't…" I felt tears press against the back of my eyelids and knew I had to get out fast. "You don't know what it does." And then I turned and bolted for the room to go look for my friend.

It didn't take long. It seemed she had collapsed just outside the door and I practically tripped over her legs. She stared up at me in surprise, as if she hadn't expected anyone to follow, and I stared down with tears dampening my own eyes. "San," I whispered, and I sat down beside her on the ground. My arms slid around her and drew her close, her hands clutching the back of my shirt as the first sob came from her.

"Why are you so good to me?" she whispered against my neck before pulling away slightly, the tears pouring down her cheeks. I stroked her hair gently, let her cry for a minute as I scrambled for something to say. I wasn't good at comforting. That had been Santana's job. I never knew what to say to her when she cried, really cried, and the same held true now.

"Maybe try rocking back and forth," I blurted out at last. "People do that in movies." It sounded lame even to me, but it was the best I could offer her. It didn't seem to matter to Santana, who was still sobbing. We talked for a while despite the fact the bell had rung. Talked even when the halls had emptied and it was just us, alone, missing class. I moved closer then, the fingers that had been stroking her hair moving to her cheek. She didn't protest, but lifted her wet eyes to mine. I loved her. I loved her, and it made me hurt to see her face red and tear-stained, knowing she was really hurting over this. "I'm sorry," I said, though I don't know why I was sorry. For a lot of things, I guess. For a lot more than just the stuff in Glee. For everything. It wasn't my fault, of course- it wasn't anyone's fault. How could you blame anyone for what just… was? But I was sorry it was happening, sorry she was hurting, even if I had not been the one to say those mean things. Even if I didn't know how to fix the fact I was dating Artie and she was all alone. I wanted to remind her that I would have had her, that I loved her, that I had wanted to be with her. I even opened my mouth to say it, my thumb brushing over her lower lip before my hand slid down the line of her neck, over the curve of her shoulder to grip the front of her shirt. Before I spoke, though, I realized something was missing from my hand's slow trail downward. I was so familiar with her, with how it felt to touch her, that I knew immediately it was gone. My eyes dropped, and the words that escaped were not the ones I meant to say. Instead I whispered, "You took it off," choking on the sentence, my eyes locked on her bare neck. Santana's hand lifted, brushing mine as it settled against her throat. Her _bare_ throat. The throat that usually had a silver heart necklace around it.

"I figured it was time for some new Valentine's Day bling," she replied with a shrug, sweeping my hand out from beneath the collar of her denim short-sleeved jacket. Her eyes didn't meet mine. The hurt flooded through me and both of my hands dropped to my lap, eyes still on the empty spot where her necklace usually was. "Puck got me a necklace from Jared. Or he will have, once I buy it and he pays me back."

"But I got you that," I whispered. "Myself. I bought it for you. You never take it off."

Santana's fingers curled over the neck of her shirt, eyes staring down the hall for a minute before she stood and shrugged. Her hands wiped the remaining dampness from her eyes before she turned away. With her back still to me, she said quietly, "Things change, B." And then she was walking away from me again, leaving me alone on the hallway floor staring after her.

Things did change. That was something I'd learned when I was thirteen and Santana wrapped her pinky around mine for the first time. It was still not something I liked much. My feelings for her didn't, but my feelings for Artie did. They got stronger. I liked him a lot. True, sleeping with him was nowhere near as nice as sleeping with Santana, but it had gotten better from the first time. Plus, he took me for rides on his wheelchair and he treated me like a gentleman. When he told me he loved me for the first time, I told him that I loved him too, happily, without reserve. I did love him. I wasn't _in_ love with him, but I did love him, and I was happy with him. After a little while, Santana started dating Sam and told me she was really happy with him, too. That was another big change. We'd never both had boyfriends at the same time, and we'd never both had feelings for someone else at the same time. Well… I don't think we did this time, either. I didn't think Santana really liked Sam that much, but having him made her feel better so I didn't say anything. We hadn't touched each other since the whole moment in the hallway when I realized she wasn't wearing the necklace anymore. Not until a drunken party at Rachel's. It started with body shots, a warm tongue sweeping slowly over my bare stomach, muscles tensing in my stomach. It had been too long for us, and after everyone else had passed out, we fell into each other on Rachel's little stage thing. My bra went flying. Somehow we stumbled our way into the laundry closet, kicking the door shut as her hands ran over me and her tongue dipped hungrily into my mouth. _It's not cheating because the plumbing is different_, I reminded myself when her hand slid down my shorts and found me for the first time in weeks, reminding me exactly what I'd been missing.

After, her lips pressed to my forehead, danced down my cheek to meet mine in a soft, gentle kiss. "Hi," she whispered against my mouth, and we both smiled and just held on for a while.

And so our sex stuff started up again with more confusion than ever. My confusion, anyway. I don't know if it was the same for Santana as it was for me because she didn't talk about it ever- something that bothered me, but I was afraid to bring up. The sex was as amazing as ever, but outside of it she never said anything about feelings or anything. And she still wasn't wearing the necklace. That bothered me more than anything- because she had never said the words, but I figured that wearing the necklace was good enough for an admission. Now it wasn't there and I didn't know what to think anymore. I tried to be how we always were. I tried to leave it at sex, to remember that I'd told myself after the first time that it was good enough. But it wasn't. It wasn't good enough anymore because on one hand I had Artie telling me he loved me every single time we were together and on the other I had Santana and I _felt _the love with her, but she never said it.

So one day after we'd finished, after we were dressed and just sitting in her room her hands running through my hair to fix it, I blurted it out. "I want to talk to you about something." When there was no reply but the feeling of her fingers sliding my hair carefully into a ponytail, I went on. "I really like when we make out… and stuff…" She slid her fingers through my completed ponytail to the end before releasing it, hesitating a moment before dipping down beside me. "Which isn't cheating because…"

"The plumbing's different," I replied promptly, stopping a small smile, reassuring her that this was not going to be about cheating but trying hard to make it obvious this was still a serious conversation. It was worse in a way, and I really didn't want to, but we had to discuss it. So I went on, bringing up feelings quietly with my eyes on hers in the mirror. She was fixing her makeup and I saw her frown slightly at the mention of Artie before continuing to slick on the lip gloss I'd kissed off not long before. She didn't seem to understand why I wanted to talk about it. So I just flat out said it, hoping that might prompt some sort of reaction. "I dunno, I guess I just… don't know how I feel about _us." _I made sure to say 'us' differently so she'd get I meant her and me together as a unit. Not just the sex, but the whole. I could see her mind ticking and I could sense it- that panic. It was the same thing as in my bedroom months and months ago before she left, the same warning look she'd given me then, only now she was giving it to me as she threw the pillows we'd knocked off her bed during back onto it. Things were different now and I could feel my own worry building. This was hard for me too. I wished she could see that. I wanted to hug her and hold her close and tell her I was scared and just wanted to fix us, but I didn't have those words. But if I didn't, maybe somebody else would. "I don't know, Santana. I think we should talk to somebody. Like, an adult. This relationship is really confusing for me."

"Breakfast is confusing for you," she snapped, and she had a valid point. Breakfast for dinner had been one of the greater mysteries of my life for a while, but that wasn't what I wanted to talk about. I also knew she wanted to change the subject. Because I knew Santana and I knew I'd pushed her too far for a night. I'd convince her to talk to Miss Holliday with me, but later. Later when she wasn't mad at me. So I made some comment about her breakfast for dinner. She shot me a look and returned to making her bed, which made me sigh. Slowly I stood and crossed to her, my arms wrapping around her waist so I pressed my front to her back. "San," I whispered kissing the back of her neck. "Please."

She sighed and leaned back into me, her hands sliding over mine and lacing our fingers together. "We can… talk to Miss Holliday, I guess," she whispered at last. I felt her hands tighten on mine and I knew she was scared. Santana had a lot going on inside of her. She always had. So I turned her and kissed her softly, my hand running through her hair. I wanted her to see me, to know that it would all be okay. My hands lifted and rested on her cheeks so that her eyes were forced to meet mine and I smiled, resting our foreheads together as I kissed her once again, just once, lightly.

"Thank you."

The next day, we found Miss Holliday in the library. I had reached for Santana's hand, but I think she was still anxious and maybe a little bothered that we were doing this so she didn't link our pinkies like usual. My fingertips slid nervously into the waistband of my pants so I wouldn't look worried by twisting them together or something. I hoped I wasn't messing things up by doing this, hoped Santana would be okay and that she wouldn't be mad at me. I knew she was doing this for me. Maybe most people thought Santana was selfish, and I guess she was to a point in that she focused mostly on her own fears and needs most of the time. But she also cared about me and wanted me to be happy. She tried to give me what she could- like this meeting, which she didn't want to do. "Miss Holliday, we need your help." _We need your help. _How often had I heard Santana ask anyone for help before? Never. It wasn't something she did. She always did whatever she could for herself, but I had asked and so she was asking. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.

The meeting went well, I think. Santana talked, so that was something. Even after Miss Holliday used that word Santana hated – _lesbian – _she didn't leave. She talked. Again I wanted to take her hand, but she kept her hands in her lap, fingers gripped nervously together, twisting in front of her as she struggled to describe what she was to the teacher. I watched her quietly, looking from her to Miss Holliday and back again. I kept my own hands tucked between my legs as I fought to think of the words to say. Words were hard for me. "It's not about who you are attracted to ultimately, it's about who you fall in love with," Miss Holliday told us. Like it was the easiest thing in the world to know, like it was simple and obvious and we'd both be like _oh, duh! _And everything would be okay. But it wasn't simple. I had told Santana I loved her so many times before. I hadn't for a while- what was the point now? She never said it back and I could only take that so many times without getting super sad over it. I could feel my best friend's eyes on me and I knew she wasn't going to say anything about that, so it was up to me to start this part of the talking. I wondered briefly if she thought I would say those words right there in front of the teacher. I knew if I looked at her I'd see fear and nerves and… well, okay. I didn't know anything beyond the bad stuff in that moment. As much as I knew Santana, she did have her secrets, even from me.

"Well I don't know how I feel because Santana refuses to talk about it." I looked back at her and she looked away without meeting my eyes. I was frustrated. She _knew_ how I felt. I knew how I felt. But I didn't want to say it again, not when she was giving me nothing, not when I was so confused over Artie and her and now everything else. Was I a lesbian? Was Santana? Did it even matter? I looked back at Miss Holliday, wanting to ask her to fix it, to make everything better. She said something about a song and I wanted to tell her that Santana wouldn't like that very much, singing about her feelings in front of glee club.

Before I could, though, Santana said, "I could be down with that." I looked quickly in her direction, surprised, confused. She looked back at me before she continued to speak to Miss Holliday. A minute later, she let us go. We'd sing tomorrow.

"San," I said quietly as we left, looking over at her. She looked back at me and I couldn't tell what she was thinking. Her face had no expression and her eyes had that secret look they got sometimes, though rarely around me. "I… We're really singing? In glee club and everything?" For a second, Santana just looked at me. I could tell she was thinking, trying to make a decision, trying to figure out what was best for both of us. I stayed quiet and waited for her answer, my breath stuck in my lungs. I didn't want to breathe because I was afraid of ruining this. Afraid if I even blinked, she would change her mind and move on.

"Yeah," she said quietly, smiling just a bit. "We're going to sing in front of glee club." Her hand lifted, pinky held out for mine. I stared and then grinned, hooking mine around hers. Together, we went to our lockers to get our things so we could go to her house and practice.

I didn't realize when we were practicing what Santana was trying to say with this song. Understanding lyrics and stuff wasn't my strong point and I didn't know what natural disasters had to do with our feelings, but it didn't sound like a good thing to me. Santana looked far away when we practiced, like she wasn't there, so it wasn't until we were singing together with Miss Holliday that I understood. I had known she was scared. I had known she was scared of being called all those words, but I didn't know why. I didn't know if it was because we were only best friends who had sex or if it was because it was more than that. I didn't know if she loved me.

But then we were singing and she stared at me even as I looked to her. She took in a deep breath and I could see the worry in her eyes, even as I saw the strength I loved so much. She was looking at me, and when she opened her mouth to sing for the first time, my breath caught. She was so beautiful and her voice was perfect, and I finally got the words. I finally understood what she was saying. I added my voice to the three and Miss Holliday might as well not have been there because I couldn't see her or hear her. Santana and I were the only ones in the room. At one point, the teacher between us went quiet and it was Santana singing the melody with me as the harmony.

_But time makes you bolder_

_Children get older_

_And I'm getting older… too_

I didn't want to cry. I hated crying, but my eyes were burning with the need to cry. So I looked away from Santana and out at the glee club who all watched quietly. Most of them were smiling, but I don't think they realized what was going on. I don't think they understood like I did that Santana was giving me something real, something special, that she'd never let anyone else have. My eyes found Quinn, who was smiling softly as she swayed to the song, her eyes meeting mine before shifting to Santana. She knew. I wondered if she'd always known. Next I saw Artie and my heart twisted guiltily. He was such a nice guy and he… Well, he didn't get it. He didn't see it. Not like Quinn saw, not like I saw. He would get hurt when he realized, I thought, because if it came down to it, I would choose Santana after this. Santana was finally giving me everything I wanted from her and I knew as we sang that I would be hurting Artie for her as soon as she said those words. As soon as the song was over and she said the words I could see inside of her. My eyes moved back to her now, stared. She was crying. In front of everyone, without the drama she sometimes could have when she cried in front of people. These tears were quiet, falling between the notes. And she was beautiful. "Is that really how you feel?" I managed to ask when the applause stopped.

"Uh… yeah." And she smiled at me, getting up off the stool to move to me and hug me tight. I could feel her shaking as I held her and my grip tightened as she whispered, "Thank you." When we pulled out of the hug, I asked her quietly if she was okay and she nodded and smiled. We were standing so close and I wanted to take her hands, to hold them tight in mine and never let go. She was mine, and I was hers. Always.

And then Rachel spoke. Can I just applaud this trio for exploring the uncharted world of Sapphic charm? Brava. Brava." Santana's eyes snapped to her. I didn't know what the smaller girl had meant, but I knew as soon as I felt Santana tense beside me that Sapphic was one of those words she didn't want aimed at her. My heart dropped and I felt my smile quickly leave my face.

"Look, just because I sang a song with Brittany doesn't mean that you can put a label on me. Is that clear?" She said it meanly and I felt the worry build up again. All of that and now Santana was going to have one of those panics again, one of those moments where she closes off to me and everyone else. I looked at her, willing her to stay, willing her to ignore Rachel and stay by me where she was. But she looked at me only once before walking away, leaving me standing alone in front of everyone. And something in me broke.

I didn't talk to her that night like I usually did and I avoided her at our lockers the next day. I didn't want to see her so soon after she'd left me alone again. Alone in front of everyone, all my feelings lain out and then stepped on. I don't think she realized that she'd hurt me. Maybe she thought the song would be enough for us or maybe she'd needed time by herself to think. I don't know. All I knew was that she'd walked away from me again and it was getting harder and hard to deal with it when she did that.

"Hi." I had been standing at my locker, struggling to understand the text I was trying to cram into my head before a test next period when I heard that single word. My head lifted, surprise filling me. It was Santana. She'd sounded quiet, kind of weird. Not like herself.

"Hey." I smiled faintly, but it wasn't a real smile and it was gone quickly.

"Can we talk?" Talk? I closed the book and slipped it into my locker. No way was I getting any studying done now. I didn't know it then, but this was going to be one of the most important conversations in my life. It was also going to be one of the hardest things I ever had to do.

"But we never do that," I replied, perhaps a bit harsher than usual. Not that it was really mean because I could never bring myself to be mean to Santana.

"Yeah, I know, but uh. I wanted to thank you. For performing that song with me in glee club." Well, I hadn't been expecting that. I was still sore over that song, over her walking away. So I made some sound of agreement, confused as to where this was going. In my chest, I could feel my heart beating quickly. "'Cause it's made me do a lot of thinking. What I realized… is why I'm such a bitch all the time." I blinked. That was definitely not what I'd been expecting from her. I didn't understand how singing with me for glee club could lead to her understanding why she could be so mean sometimes. So I said nothing, waited patiently for her to explain. Santana was good at explaining things I didn't understand. "I'm a bitch because I'm angry. I'm angry because I have all of these feelings." I watched her eyes slide nervously to the side as people passed us and my confusion doubled. "Feelings for you," she continued quietly, even as a football player she'd slept with once or twice passed us, "That I'm afraid of dealing with… because I'm afraid of dealing with the consequences." Her voice faded a little on the words, as if she was losing her nerve. This was her explaining she was afraid, I realized. I was finally going to understand why she was so scared. "And Brittany, I can't go to an Indigo Girl's concert. I just… can't."

I think that part was a joke, but I was too confused to get it. So I just nodded slightly and said, "I understand that," even though I really didn't. I was confused and worried and scared. I don't think my heart had ever beaten so fast before. It was scarier still because a lot of those same feelings were in Santana's eyes as well. I could see them. There was no hiding today, I guess. She was going to tell me everything.

"Do you… understand what I'm trying to say?" She wasn't looking down on me when she asked this. She wanted to make sure. I wish I could have nodded and taken the worry out of her eyes, but… Well, I didn't understand and I wanted to. So I hesitated and then shook my head and said something about how I didn't. I wasn't following her at all, in fact. I wanted her to just say it straight out instead of dancing around the topic and making weird jokes to distract me. I didn't know, though, that she was about to be so direct it would both thrill and scare me. She wasn't looking at me, as if she were trying to get her words together. I got that. Both of us had a hard time talking about things, which I guess is why it took us so long to get here. But when she looked up, she looked determined. She met my eyes, her own direct. "I want to be with you," she said. "But I'm afraid," My eyes glanced sideways at the people that passed us before I looked at her again, shocked more by the fact she was saying this than by what she said, "Of the talks and the looks. I mean, you know what happened to Kurt at this school." And suddenly it all made sense. She was scared not just of what people would think, but of what they would say and do.

"But honey," I said with a smile, "If anybody were to ever make fun of you, you would either kick their ass or slash them with you vicious, vicious words." I watched her as I said it, watched her face tighten as she fought tears. She lost. They started, and for the second time in two days Santana was crying in public over the stuff between us. My heart felt like it was being squeezed again, but I didn't reach out. Not then. She needed to get it all out.

"Yeah, I know, but… I'm so afraid of what everyone will say behind my back." And that was the other problem, I realized. That old fear. It didn't have anything to do with her reputation, not directly. It was more that she didn't want those words muttered where she couldn't hear them or do anything about them. Where it might get back to her neighborhood full of rich, snobby people. Where her Catholic parents might find out and do something about it. I looked briefly to the people in the hallway again, sad that they had so much power, that they had kept Santana from telling me all of this for so long. "Still, I have to accept…" I watched her again, waiting. "That I love you." She said it. She had said it and my heart jumped and froze before beating even faster. I couldn't believe she was saying it. I felt a rush of emotions that I couldn't sort through and I was completely confused again. "I love _you, _and I don't want to be with _Sam_, or _Finn_, or any of those other guys. I just want _you_." She paused and waited, tears on her cheeks as she stared at me. I couldn't find words. So her head shook slightly and she prompted quietly, "Please say you love me back. _Please." _

That wasn't exactly fair. She _knew _how I felt. She had known for a while. I'd always said it and she waited until _now _to say it back? "Of course I love you," I rushed to reassure. "I do." I thought of all those times she'd walked away from me, all of those times she'd changed the subject or gotten angry or walked out and left me alone. The last time had been just yesterday, in fact, after I thought she'd finally gotten beyond the fear. I had been prepared yesterday to leave Artie for her, to break up with him and go to her willingly. But she had walked away. So what happened if I did it today? Would she hold my hand when we walked down the hall… or would it be the same as before, except now I'd have the words? I couldn't go back to that. I couldn't go back to not knowing. I couldn't risk hurting someone as nice as Artie for my own happiness, especially when it was likely I would only hurt myself and Santana, too. "And I would totally be with you if it weren't for Artie."

"Artie?" She looked confused, as if she'd forgotten I had a boyfriend. I wondered if she'd forgotten about Sam, too.

"I love him too," I told her quietly, hoping she'd understand what I meant. "I don't want to hurt him. That's not right, I can't break up with him." She didn't understand. She looked at me with confusion and disgust, shaking her head slightly.

"Yes you _can! _He's just a _stupid_ _boy_!" I closed my eyes briefly before looking at her again.

"But it wouldn't be right," I tried again. I wanted to be with her, I did. But it wouldn't be right for me to leave Artie for her now. Not when I didn't know if she would stay. How could I hurt him, risk everything? But I wasn't explaining it right. I was making it seem like I was picking her after him, when that wasn't the case. I had picked her first. Up until yesterday, I would have taken her first without a thought. But today I couldn't do that. "Santana," I said quietly as she shook her head, a tear falling down her cheek, "You have to know if Artie and I were to ever break up…" And I could risk everything on her without risking someone else, "And I'm lucky enough that you're still single…" Even though she wasn't, really, because she had Sam now- another person that would get hurt. Looking at her, though, I saw I wasn't explaining myself well at all. She was taking this wrong. I reached out and gripped her wrist, hoping she would let me take her hand as she had sometimes in the past. She pulled away from me, though, ordering me not to touch her. I took a breath and tried to explain again- that she was first, that she'd always be first. I loved Artie but I was _in _love with her. Couldn't she see that? "I am _so _yours," I said. "Proudly so."

"Yeah, well, wow. Who ever thought that being fluid meant you could be so stuck?" she said bitterly, glaring at me. She wasn't getting it, I thought, my own panic sticking in my chest. She didn't get what I was saying to her. That I wanted her but couldn't take that risk. That I was scared, too. She didn't understand that sometimes even love wasn't enough. Sometimes we had to consider others' feelings before our own. I had to think of Artie's. He hadn't done anything wrong.

"I'm sorry," I whispered weakly, moving to hug her. For the first time ever, Santana shoved me harshly away even as I choked out another apology.

"Get off me," she snarled, tears falling faster now as she turned and left me alone again, standing by my locker staring after her. I had messed it up. She hadn't understood. I wish I had been smart enough to tell her exactly what my thoughts were, but I wasn't good with words. I wished I could have shown her, but she hadn't let me touch her. Looking back now, I can see we both made mistakes. I listened but couldn't speak. She spoke but couldn't hear. For the first time since we were four, we hadn't understood each other. She had thought I was telling her that love wasn't dating.

I had been trying to explain that sometimes dating wasn't love.

**I'm now emotionally drained. Brb off to cry some more. K awesome. **


	7. Winning

**Okay, I'm really sorry this took me so long. I'm on emotional overload with this couple right now. I've also been debating whether or not to just keep going with the show or veer away from it and go into what I would want to happen. Ideas? Thoughts? Opinions? Not guaranteeing I'm gonna use all the feedback I get, but I'll take your opinions to heart. And oh, my God. I'm sorry for making people cry! I know that episode 15 was hard on all of us. I hope the story was worth the tears. Less-than-three!**

When I was five, I had a doll. My grammie brought her to me all the way from Europe and she was really pretty with long, dark hair and a smiling pink mouth. Her eyes were blue like mine and when I lay her down to sleep, they closed. But she never stopped smiling, and I really loved how happy she was all the time. I named her Kimberly (like the pink power ranger). I liked to comb her hair and braid it and put pretty bows in it. I took her with me to the store and to school and to the playground to play with Santana's stuffed giraffe, Stevie. I loved Kimberly a whole lot and I thought, at the time, I would have her forever. So when some mean boy at the playground stole her and ripped off her arms, I couldn't believe it. I cried (while Santana sent him home with a bloody lip), picked up all the pieces, and ran to my mom to beg her to fix it. She looked at my poor, broken Kimberly and then shook her head sadly. "Sometimes things just stay broken, Brittany," she told me quietly, setting Kimberly aside so I could climb on her lap and cry. She rocked me gently and stroked my hair, her lips pressing to my forehead. "No matter how much we love it, we can't fix it."

For days after that conversation at my locker, Santana refused to talk to me. She didn't answer my texts or phone calls. She wouldn't open her front door when I went to her house and knocked and she wouldn't look at me in the classes we shared or in Glee. She somehow managed to go to the lockers at different times so that I didn't catch her. She stopped coming to pick me up in the mornings (which meant Artie's dad had to swing by and pick me up instead) and she didn't wait for me after school, either. Quinn ended up driving me home a lot of the time. I remember the first time she did that. It was the same day as when Santana talked to me and I stood outside by McKinley's front door. I must have looked very lost when Quinn found me because she stopped at my side and asked me if anything was wrong. She rarely talked to me lately. I think it was mostly because she had her own life to deal with and the stuff with me took kind of a back seat. We weren't on the Cheerios anymore and I think the part of her that knew about me and Santana – the part I liked to pretend didn't exist because I knew it would bother my best friend – thought maybe things between us were okay since we'd sung a song together. It was the pretending part of me that had me shaking my head. No, nothing was wrong, the headshake assured her. But I was Brittany, not Santana, and I was really bad at lying. Quinn was Quinn, not Brittany, and she was smart enough to know I was keeping something from her. "Where's Santana?" she asked me, and my blue eyes stung, burning with tears that didn't fall. I hated crying, especially in front of people. I didn't want her to know I was hurt. I was always the one who comforted, never the one who needed the comfort.

"I think she forgot she drives me home," I whispered, afraid if I spoke any louder that I'd make my eyes water further.

"She forgot? Brittany, she's been driving you to and from school pretty much every day since she got her license. What's up?" I said nothing, figuring if I didn't try to lie then I wouldn't give anything away. There was a brief silence between us, filled only with the sound of Quinn's keys jingling in her hand. I focused on the cheerful sound as if my life depended on memorizing the noise, avoiding the eyes I knew were focused on me as she waited for an answer. At last, the shorter blonde sighed and started towards the parking lot. "Come on, Brittany," she called over her shoulder. "I'll drive you home." I didn't ask her if she was sure or even react really. I was confused and emotionally spent, unable to string together another actual sentence. So, I followed Quinn to her car and let her drive me silently back to my house, unable and unwilling to explain why Santana had "forgotten" me. She didn't ask again; just dropped me off and said goodbye with her eyes far away. I wondered what she was thinking about, but I didn't ask, either. I just climbed out and went into my house.

It made me sad to be without her. A full week passed without us even making eye contact. She made her usual comments in Glee, but I could tell she wasn't as into it as possible. Usually when she said something to Rachel or someone, she would look over at me so we could share a smile. There was none of that now. I tried. I really tried to catch her eye, to make her look over at me and see how much I still needed her while still trying to show Artie I loved him, too. His hand was always in mine – or mine was in his, I guess – so I figured that was enough to show him. I didn't get to do that for Santana. She sat far away from me now- and not in the way she had before, when it had been to keep us a secret. She sat far away from me on purpose. Not because she wanted to touch me, but because she didn't. I wanted her to be happy. When she asked in glee club who was in favor of shooting Rachel down again (for what? I'd stopped listening to most of Rachel's ideas a while ago, so I didn't really know what the vote was for), my hand shot up before anyone else's. She hadn't even finished the question when it was firmly in the air, followed at a slower pace by almost everyone else's. I glanced over at her, but she wasn't watching me, and almost right away Quinn was disagreeing. I sighed quietly because Santana had not noticed my efforts to give her what she wanted and tuned everyone out again. I didn't hear anyone's words (except Santana's), though I tried to show interest. I just couldn't work up the cheer that was expected of me.

Finally, after nine days of nothing between us but silence, I decided to surprise her into talking to me. I hid in the doorway of a classroom across from our lockers between classes, waiting for her to come. My efforts paid off right after third period when she walked quickly to her locker with her eyes down. I felt my heart beating fast as I stepped away from the door frame and crossed slowly towards her, my arms folded beneath my chest so that maybe I could catch my heart if it decided to beat right out of me. "Hey," I said quietly, staring at the side of her face, willing her to look at me. Her dark eyes shifted to me, but she didn't make eye contact. Her eyes returned instead to her lock as she went back to trying to ignore me. I felt the familiar squeezing of my heart, like a giant fist was squishing it painfully between its fingers. "Can I ask you a question?" I looked nervously down at first before deciding it was best to try and keep my eyes on her. Just in case she looked at me. Just in case I could see her eyes for the first time in nine whole days of being lonely and I could understand what she was feeling now. She didn't say anything, but her fingers were still on her lock. She was staring hard at it, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world- which I didn't get because it was the same lock she'd had all year so I didn't see why it would be interesting all of the sudden. "We used to be really close and I really miss being your friend." I blurted out the words, though they weren't exactly what I'd been planning to say in my head. Her finger twisted the lock harshly to the side at the word _friend _and I knew I'd ruined my chance already.

"Still waiting for the question." Her voice was not the one she usually used with me and I shifted nervously. I didn't want to blow this. I wanted things to be okay again. I _did _miss her, in every way it was possible to miss a person. I missed being her friend and I missed being her lover. I missed our shared moments and our sweet lady kisses. I missed when things were easy between us. I even missed what we were like together when things got hard, because at least Santana had wanted to be with me then. Somewhere that had all gone wrong. Because I did a bad job at speaking, because I could never say the things I meant exactly how I meant them. Somewhere in me I knew it wasn't completely my fault, but in that moment it really felt like it was.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked because it was the first thing that came into my head. I willed her to tell me what it was, what had happened. How I could fix it. But I hardly got the question out before she was cutting me off, her voice angrier than I'd ever heard it actually directed at me. Normally her anger was focused on something or someone that wasn't me. The fact it was on me again, for the second time in a row, threw me off.

"You know, look. I don't know," she hissed, turning towards me fully. "Did you?" Now that I was staring into her eyes, I could see a lot more. It made me feel both better and worse at the same time because I could see she wasn't _just _mad. But the other emotions were bad, too. She was angry- and sad and hurt and confused. I think part of her wondered if I really _did _do something wrong, or if she had. I worried that she was putting all of the blame on herself and in that moment, I'd never felt guiltier. I could only stare at her, and as she'd always done when I seemed confused or unable to speak, she went on. "All I know is you blew me off…" Her voice cracked slightly and I flinched, terrified she might cry again. Terrified I might cry with her. "To be with Stubbles McCripple Pants. It's fine. It's your loss." I looked sadly back at her, knowing it was true, but knowing she felt the loss too. I wanted to explain that she had been the one blowing me off those past nine days, but I knew she didn't mean the same thing as me. I wanted to point out that I wasn't choosing Artie over her because I still loved her, and I always had loved her. She wasn't my second pick. She'd been my first all along. The words jumbled in my head, trying to form a sentence that would make sense and explain all of this. As usual, though, Santana's brain worked faster and she was talking again. "Cause now I get the chance to write an awesome _heterosexual _song about Sam. That we're going to sing for Regionals."

"Wait, you're still dating Sam?" I asked, confused. I had thought maybe she and the blonde boy had broken up before she'd come to me and told me she loved me. My heart froze. Here was proof that she hadn't been ready to have something real with me. She hadn't even dumped the boy she was using for his popularity, charm, and (I guessed) penis. I knew now that Sam was a cover (because she'd told me she didn't want to be with him), but the fact she hadn't broken it off only made me wonder if she would have had I broken up with Artie when she'd wanted me to. "But you told me you were in love with me." I said it firmly, as if she'd suddenly realize exactly what was bothering me about this.

"I honestly don't know what I was thinking." She said it quietly, looking away from me to try and open her locker again. I only continued to stare at the side of her face, my eyes burning again with the need to cry, though they stayed dry. "Britt, can you stop staring at me? I can't remember my locker combo."

"Well well. If it isn't Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Fake Boobs." Coach Sylvester. So not what we needed right then. Not when I wanted to continue our conversation. I saw pain shoot briefly across Santana's face before it was hidden away and we both turned to face our ex coach. I knew Santana respected the woman still, even though she sometimes tried to act like she didn't. I also knew she was not in the right state of mind to be her usual snappy self and I could feel the panic in me. I didn't like confrontation and I didn't like Coach Sylvester. I was actually kind of scared of her- especially after quitting Cheerios and making them lose. But I didn't want her to be mean to Santana either. Not when she'd already been kicked while she was down- repeatedly. So I spoke up against her older woman for possibly the first time ever.

My eyes slid away from Santana to focus on my worst nightmare. "You know, you can't talk to us like that. You're not our cheer coach anymore." I said it quickly but firmly, determined to keep my eyes on Coach Sylvester so she'd know I was serious. Not that I thought she'd be scared of me or anything silly like that. She wasn't even scared of Santana, and Santana could be one of the scariest people I knew sometimes. She went on talking, but I ignored her as I usually did, mostly because I got lost when she told her weird stories. I looked instead to Santana, who only rolled her eyes and looked away. I did the same, though I wanted to reach out to Santana and kiss away the sadness. Being accused of betrayal by the one adult she'd always looked up to and tried to please had to be hard. But I wasn't allowed to do that anymore. I had chosen Artie and she had chosen Sam, which she'd made clear to even me. So we both went back to our lockers- and then the dirt happened. A series of screams and grossed out noises escaped us. My mouth was filled with rich soil and I coughed and spit it out desperately, trying to scrape it off my tongue with my fingertips. "I don't even remember putting that in there," I muttered to Santana, and I could feel her staring at me. I spit out more dirt and then looked up at her. A small smile touched my lips. "You kind of look like you have a beard."

She only scowled in response, swiping at the dirt on her face. "Shut up," she muttered. "You look gross too. Fuck! All of my books are probably ruined. I can't believe Coach Sylvester would…" She slammed a fist against the locker door, pressed her forehead against it with a strangled scream that ended on something that sounded like a sob. I moved forward immediately, lifting a hand to her back. She tried to shrug me off, but the tears were pouring down her face now and her body was shaking too hard for her to do more than kind of like, jerk under my fingers. I edged closer and slipped my arms around her in a hug, pressed a dirt-covered kiss to her temple. That's when she straightened up abruptly and shoved me off of her, slamming her locker again. "No," she snapped, though tear streaks tracked through the dirt on her face. "You don't get to fucking touch me. That's what my _boyfriend _is for. Why don't you go find yours?" Another sob ripped out of her, louder than the last, and she spun away from me to go find somewhere to clean off. I didn't follow. I thought she might hate me even more if I tried.

Trouty Mouth was really strange. I remember thinking it was weirdly sexy for a song about Sam's big lips, but still kind of funny at the same time. Still, I don't really like remembering her singing for someone else. I remember thinking later though – as I struggled to make sense of my rhyming dictionary – that I wished I could write a song for _her. _No one, I realized, had ever sung a song for her. Never, not once. So I wanted to write her something that told her all those words in my head. But I wasn't a good writer and I couldn't figure out how to tell her everything with a song anyway. I ended up writing _'I love you, I'm sorry' _over and over instead.

When we won Regionals, she wasn't standing next to me. Last time she'd been there, holding my hand, waiting to celebrate or mourn with me. So when the lady said _New Directions, _when we realized we were going to New York City for Nationals, I squeezed my hands automatically to share the overwhelming delight with her. But it wasn't her hand I held. It was the handles of my boyfriend's wheelchair. I was high on our win and so I made the most of it, laughing and jumping and squealing with everyone else… But I missed her hand. I turned to look for her and saw her – beaming, elated, celebrating just like everyone else – across the heads of the others and for a moment, our joy-filled eyes met. A thousand words were spoken though there was no way we could hear each other. Then Coach Sylvester hit that lady in the face and distracted everyone, officially sending the three singing groups off stage.

She wasn't backstage with the others when I looked for her. She'd disappeared somewhere, and no one seemed to notice (not even Sam). So I went off in search, discovering her a few minutes later standing alone in the green room by the window with her arms folded across the (somewhat ugly) blue dress we all wore. She stared out at the night and the sadness was back. I could see her cheeks were damp. Slowly I drew closer, afraid she'd push me away again. Afraid she'd pull me in. "San?" I whispered quietly, hoping I didn't scare her. She didn't even move, as if she'd known I was there. There was a long pause between us as I moved closer and she still didn't so much as twitch. The tears that fell were silent. "Santana?"

Abruptly she turned and stepped forward into me, our bodies fitting perfectly as her hands framed my face and she crushed our lips together. Hers tasted like salty tears and cinnamon and Santana, a taste I'd missed so, so much. But I was surprised and so could do nothing more than kiss her back with my hands hanging limply at my sides, too weak to pull her in or push her away. "Brittany," she sobbed suddenly, burying her face in my neck. That was when I made up my mind. I wrapped my arms around her at last and pulled her in, held her tight.

"Shh," I whispered soothingly, one hand stroking her dark hair while the other remained around her waist, swaying her gently with me in a motion somewhat resembling rocking. "Shh, San." For a long few minutes, we stayed just like that. I wondered if it meant we were better or if we'd suddenly fixed everything. I didn't know. She pulled away from me when she managed to calm down, her fingers wiping away the tears on her cheeks. When she stepped back, she didn't say anything. She didn't even look at me. Just as suddenly as she'd been sobbing against me, she was walking away from me again. I watched her leave before slumping back against the wall with a small sigh, eyes closing. I wanted to follow her, but I didn't know where we stood. I didn't know what that whole moment had been. Was I supposed to forget about it? It confused me. But I guess winning Regionals didn't fix everything. Winning wasn't dating, it was just winning, and suddenly it didn't feel as good as before.

"Hey, I've been looking for you." I opened my eyes again, stared at the smiling Artie in the doorway for a minute.

"Sorry," I said quietly, my lips turning faintly upward. I wanted to give him my usual warm smile, wanted him to know I cared about him- but I couldn't get my lips to work. "I was looking for Santana."

"Did you find her?" he asked. I stared at the other door, the one she'd disappeared through, and considered the question.

"I don't know."

When I was six, I got home from dance class to find Santana sitting in my living room. She was playing with my new kitten, teasing her with a shoelace that I saw a moment later she'd pulled from her own shoe. "Charity likes to play games," I told her, and she looked up in surprise. I smiled and bent down to pick up the kitten, which started to purr happily. "She's super smart. Daddy said he's going to teach her how to read so one day she'll take over the world. But she'll spare us 'cause we feed her. I'm sure she'll spare you too if you keep playing with her. Why are you here?" I set Charity down again as Santana stood and moved across to me, clutching a giant paper bag n her hand.

"I have something for you," she said. I remember staring at the bag with eagerness, wondering what my present was. She reached in and drew out the last thing I'd been expecting.

"Kimberly!" I rush forward and hugged Santana in amazement and pleasure, squishing the doll between us. I released my friend again quickly so I could study the pretty, dark-haired doll in amazement. Her arms were reattached and everything. She looked good as new. "Oh my goodness! Santana, this is the coolest thing ever!"

"I fixed her," the shorter girl declared proudly, puffing out her chest. "My nanny showed me how to sew things. She helped a little, but I mostly did it by myself." A shoulder lifted as if this were no big deal.

"You're the bestest best friend in the whole world!" I said, and she smiled.

"You can always fix things, Britt, if you want to enough. You just gotta try really hard."

**A little different in style. What do you think? And don't forget to give your opinion on where I go from here- stick to the show or veer off into what I think should happen? **


	8. Seeing

**This is super late, I know. I suck and stuff and stuff. Blame stressful finals and my job at a summer camp where I can't write shit. ANYWAYS. General consensus on my poll was to go in my own direction, so I'm gonna mix bits and pieces of what actually happened with what I wanted to happen. So still expect spoilers forsure. **

I was never as stupid as people thought I was. No, I wasn't a genius or anything, and like… Maybe the way I thought was different than a lot of people, but I wasn't stupid really. I knew things. I noticed things. I knew what needed to be known. Santana got that about me. She was always the exception to every rule about people that I had. I don't really know how to explain that, really, except to say that she never treated me how other people did. She never said things that other people said or even, I realized later, thought those thoughts. I remember once in sophomore year how Coach Sylvester said the S word to me- stupid. I don't remember what she said, other than that one word, and it echoed in my head still long after practice had ended. I sat on the bench in the locker room, leaning on my knees as I stared across from me at the red painted lockers.

"Britt, what the fuck are you doing? Have you even showered yet?" I only shook my head and mumbled a no, too sad to bother moving. There was a silent moment and then Santana sighed heavily, sitting next to me on the bench. She already wore street clothes, her jean-clad legs nowhere near as fun to look at as her legs framed in the red, white, and black of her Cheerios skirt. "What's up, B?" she whispered softly. We were alone, so she didn't worry about people seeing as her hand slipped over my knee, squeezing in gentle support before she traced her nails up and down my thigh, her head falling onto my shoulder. The sweet gestures, so rarely given outside of the bedroom, had my lips curving into a small smile. Sure, we did the casual stuff in public, but the intimacy of this gesture wouldn't be lost on anyone who saw it. My smile couldn't last, though. I was still upset.

"I wish I wasn't stupid." I whispered the words, but I knew she heard me. And she did something unexpected. Her hand came down sharply against my thigh, slapping it with annoyance as her head turned and her dark eyes glared at me. "Ow! What was that for?" I pouted, could feel my lower lip pop slightly in that way that always seemed to drive her crazy somehow. Our eyes met and she continued to stare at me with frustration.

"Is that why you're upset? Because of Coach Sylvester saying all that bullshit to you?" I nodded cautiously and snagged her hand just in case she wanted to slap me again. I was so not into the whole S and M thing. There was no second attempt, however. Santana turned toward me then, one leg folding under her so that her body faced me fully. The hand I held turned under mine, wrapped around it to squeeze it softly. "Britt, look at me," she said, her voice low and firm. My eyes shifted to her slowly. I was afraid she was mad, afraid she was going to explain to me that I _was _stupid and that I shouldn't take it so personally. But her bitch face wasn't on. She was staring at me with searching brown eyes and a serious expression, one she wore so rarely that it startled me to see it. "Who am I?" It wasn't what I'd been expecting and I gave her a puzzled look, worrying she'd hit her head and gotten anesthesia… or whatever it was called when people lost their memory.

"Santana Lopez," I replied, worried. "San, did you forget? I mean, it's okay, I forget my middle name all the time, but-"

"Right. And does Santana Lopez put up with stupid people?"

I stared, slowly shaking my head. "You say they're a waste of time and space," I whispered. "Does that mean you don't want to put up with me anymore, San? Because I can try and be smarter for you if-"

"No, Britt. It means that if you were stupid, I would never hang out with you in the first place. Sure, you say some weird stuff sometimes and you don't always get your math homework or whatever, but that's not the important stuff. You know how to make people feel better when they're sad. You know the best walks to take and the best rocks to skip. You know people and you know how to win people over better than anyone I know. And you're clever, Britt. You don't give yourself enough credit sometimes." She shrugged and I listened, entranced, to her words. Because it made sense. Santana didn't lie, especially to me. And she didn't like stupid people like Finn or Jacob Ben Israel or Azimio. But she liked me. How could I be stupid if she liked me?

"Okay," I said with a nod, hopping up from the bench.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, you're right."

She scoffed. "Of course I am."

"And now I want to shower… Want to come?" I murmured the last bit knowing perfectly well the double meaning behind it, feeling particularly clever now.

Santana stood with a smirk curving her lips, her hands resting on my hips to draw me in for a long, hungry kiss. And despite the fact her hair was still damp and smelled sweetly of shampoo, she nodded her head and drew me back towards the showers. Her hand was already tugging down the side zipper of my skirt when she whispered, "Aren't you clever?" before proceeding to show me just how much she appreciated that fact.

For a while I thought that Artie did, too. That he knew I wasn't stupid, that he got the fact I could be clever and stuff. I mean, sure. There was the headband thing and the Santa Claus thing, but I knew he was just trying to be sweet with all that. So maybe he thought I was naïve, but not stupid. He never called me stupid. When he asked me to join the Brainiacs with him and Tina and Mike, I was so happy because I thought he knew, like Santana had always known, that I could be smart too. It was after school one day that he rolled up to me, smiling that smile I knew meant he cared for me. I smiled back like I always did and bent to rest a hand on either side of his chair, my lips brushing his. It didn't feel quite perfect, but it was nice, and I was used to it. "Brittany, I have something to ask you." I nodded slightly to show I was listening, pleased that Artie felt he could come to me with whatever problems he had. I liked it when we talked, liked it when we shared feelings. It made it feel special. "We need another member on the Brainiacs." I nodded slightly, but I didn't know what it was. "That's the academic decathlon team," he added and I nodded again. The word 'academic' made me feel slightly nervous, but I was willing to listen. "Well, we recently lost a member and you were the _very_ first person I thought of to take their place. So, would you? Join the team?" The question seemed a little silly to me. Anything with the word 'academic' in it was not a good choice for me, but it was the first big request he'd ever made of me and I wanted to make him smile. Before I could agree, however, he was rushing on, as if afraid I'd say no. "We're on The Smartypants show this week – that's on TV, Brittany – and it'll be a lot of fun. Here, do you want some dots?" He procured a package of my favorite sweets from beside him on the chair, handed them to me with a flourish. I took them, baffled, and smiled at him again.

"Sure, Artie," I said, pleased I could help him with something, happy he thought to ask me to join the team before anyone else. And then when we won because of me and that was super cool too. I had done a ton of research on cat diseases when I got Charity, then a ton more when I got Lord Tubbington, so I knew all about cat stuff. I can't really describe what it feels like to do something like that, to succeed for a team, to be the star. I had always been in the background for singing or dancing or cheering. Sure, there was that one time during Valerie I'd gotten to dance up front, but that had been with Mike and Santana had been singing and… Well, this was different. And even thought it was kind of a weird thing to be the star of, I was proud. When we somehow started to explain it to the glee club, I stood behind Artie and smiled happily as he announced our win over Carmel, bounced a bit on my toes because I couldn't wait to share that I'd been the reason for that win. I had done something good. And maybe it was selfish of me to want the credit, but I just… I wanted everyone to see me how Santana and (I thought) Artie saw me.

But then it changed.

Being put down by people who don't know you is hard. I'd dealt with it a lot in my early years (not so much later down the road because Santana had pretty much threatened the lives of anyone who tried it), and it always hurt to hear someone you didn't know or only knew vaguely muttering about how stupid you are behind your back. But to hear it from people you care about – to get it directly to your face – is somehow ten million infinity times worse.

It was Mr. Schuester first. "I get the three of you being on the team…" I glanced at him, noticed his surprised eyes were on me. I felt a slow drop in my stomach. I knew that look. That _Brittany is too dumb _look. I hated when people gave me that look. "But Brittany?" There it was. God, it tore me up. My stomach felt like it was going to come up out of my mouth and my face burned. Immediately I glanced down to Artie, waiting for the defense, waiting for him to say 'actually, Brittany is super smart and she's the whole reason we won in the first place.' But no. No, I didn't get that.

"Brittany was the only person we could find on short notice."

No. No, not him too. My fingers tightened around the handles of his chair as I continued to stare down at him, fighting to keep my expression neutral. "We bribed her with dots." No, I wanted to scream. No, that wasn't how it had happened. I wanted to say it out loud, but my tongue felt like sandpaper, tied in knots as my lips parted and closed again, like a gasping fish or something. Slowly I removed my hands, slipped them into my own pockets as he explained my part in the win. It didn't do anything to get rid of the sick feeling. Still, I thought. Still, maybe he doesn't realize. He called me the secret weapon. I could forgive him this one time. He just didn't realize. Certainly now he got it, got that I wasn't… that word.

I glanced up at the others then and Santana looked back at me, her expression knowing. She didn't say anything, but I could see the anger in her eyes. We still hadn't been talking much, but that didn't mean I didn't understand her. I tried a reassuring smile and she only jerked a shoulder up in reply, looking away without a word. Santana from before would have stood up and demanded that Artie remember who had saved whose ass on the show. Hurt Santana only sank into her chair, arms folded tightly across her chest as she folded in on herself. _Your problem, not mine, _she seemed to say, though I knew the words would be burning on the tip of her tongue. She'd always been the first person to stick up for me.

I missed her.

The night we did our benefit concert was the night we really got to talk again. It started off normal. I was wheeling Artie around to burn off pre-performance jitters. We passed Kurt and that guy I thought he must have been dating or something because they kind of acted like those cute, awkward freshmen who didn't know what sex was around each other and I was overwhelmingly glad to see they had shown up. I remember greeting them as I pushed Artie back towards the choir room, and I remember that I turned back only a few seconds later because I had dropped my earring somewhere between the locker room and the choir room. And that's when I heard them- Kurofsky, Kurt and the kid with the eyebrows whose name I can't remember now, and…

Santana.

"Oh and also, I have razorblades hidden in my hair. Mhm. Tons. Just all up in there." I pressed my back to the doorway, eyes wide. I heard Kurofsky leave then, heard the hobbit guy talk. Then Santana again, her words always clear to me even when everything else was muffled. "It was more fun doing it together." She had defended them. I figured out why later. They were gay. They were being harassed for something she was afraid of being harassed over. A couple of queers and a girl? No. Had he realized, he would have seen that spark lit in her eyes the instant he'd said that. Even hiding as I was, I knew it was there. She was amazing. I quickly scurried back into the choir room and sat beside Artie, mind spinning.

"Did you find your earring?"

"I'm only wearing one," I muttered vaguely, distracted. Santana came in only moments later and I watched her quietly, only vaguely hearing what she was saying about Sunshine and birds twittering (which totally didn't make sense because I was pretty sure it was nighttime). Anyways, the night was a total mess but I guess it ended with us going to Detroit, so that was cool, but it wasn't what was on my mind all night.

"Santana." She stopped, fingers wrapped around the door handle of her car. I knew she was debating. Ignore me, open the car door, and drive away or turn and talk to me? She settled on neither, her body frozen in place while her head turned half toward me, tilting in a silent gesture of _what the hell do you want? _"I heard you. With David and Kurt and that short guy. That was really nice of you." She didn't say a word. I stepped forward, lifted a hand hesitantly. Taking a deep breath and holding it in my lungs, I reached out and ran my hand through her hair, the straightened strands filtering through my spread fingertips. She tensed but didn't jerk away and I couldn't help but smile as I stepped forward and pressed my front to her back, my arms wrapping around her to hug her from behind as my face burrowed into dark hair. "There aren't any razors," I mumbled.

Her scent filled me, warmed me, cradled me in all of these comforting feelings I'd been missing for weeks. For a minute she remained stiff and I remember thinking, God, please don't push me away. I need you. But I guess she needed me too because her hands found mine, wrapped tightly around them. "What would you have done if there had been?" she muttered in response, and I could just barely make out the faint quiver in her voice as she leaned back into me. "You would have gotten blood all up in my hair. That would have pissed me off."

"I'd have asked you to kiss it better," I responded honestly, my voice clear and serious as I buried my face further. "But I'm glad there aren't razors because this is a lot nicer than bleeding all over you." She sighed, a strangled laugh escaping. I knew she was giving in, knew she needed me like I needed her. We didn't move, but stood just that way in the shadows of the parking lot. Eventually she turned in my arms, pressed her back to the car door with her hands at my hips as she studied me.

"Now what?" she murmured because there was still Artie and there was still Sam and we knew nothing had changed from before. Not really.

"Now… we wait." I lifted a shoulder. It seemed obvious to me. I'd been waiting for years, after all. It only seemed suiting that she should wait as well.

"Wait…" Her voice was dull and I cringed. I didn't want to lose this slippery grip on our reconnection. "Waiting isn't being together, Brittany."

"I know," I whispered, pressing our foreheads together so that she'd be forced to look at me, to see me clearly. I needed her to get it, needed it to understand. "I love you, Santana. I always, _always _have. And I'll still be here. Please still be here with me. See me, San. See _you." _She sighed, frustrated, and shook her head.

"I need to go home," she said, pulling back quickly before hesitating. Then she leaned up and pressed a kiss to my cheek, the simple gesture sparking the flame of hope in me. "I'll text you, okay? I…" I love you. I could see the words in her eyes. But she only shook her head and sighed, opening her car door. "I'll see you later. Night, Brittbritt."

I smiled sadly and waved at her as she drove off, left behind again. Hopefully Quinn hadn't left yet and I could grab a ride home.

"Night, San."

After Santana got her boob job, after I finally got home from my family's vacation and school started and Coach Sylvester said something, Santana spent a lot of time in front of the mirror. "I don't understand why she's getting her track suit in a twist," I remember her saying once, her dark eyes glaring at her own reflection in her full length mirror. "They look normal. They fit. They aren't too big… right? I mean, Jesus, you can hardly tell!" She lifted her hands, smoothed them down the front of her shirt to tighten the fabric over her new breasts. I watched quietly, perched on the end of her bed as I waited. "Fucking moron," I heard her mutter a moment later, the scathing words self-directed. I'd been momentarily forgotten about. "The fuck were you thinking? I look so stupid now…"

I hated that word.

Sick of hearing it, I moved behind her and swiftly pulled her shirt over her head. She made some sound, as if to tell me not to do what I was doing, but it was too late. I tossed it aside and gripped her wrists, pulling her arms back down to her sides before I moved to her bra and unclipped that too. At this point, she was watching me. I met her eyes in the mirror, brought my hands up to trace the undersides of her breasts where the faint scars of her surgery remained. "You're beautiful," I said to her and her mouth opened, no words coming out. "I can see you, Santana Lopez, and you're beautiful." I kissed her shoulder before reaching for her own hands, bringing them up to cover herself before lacing our fingers over her exposed chest. "Please see you, too," I whispered. She stared another moment before giggling and turning into me, shaking her head.

"It's a mirror. Of course I see me," she responded, though I knew she knew what I'd actually meant. And she knew I knew. But I hardly had time to protest before she shoved me back onto her bed and distracted me. Looking back, I wish I'd forced her to really see in that moment.

Maybe if she had, the rest wouldn't have been so hard.

**READ **_**AND**_** REVIEW DAMN IT. I like reading reviews. They make me cheerful.**


	9. Acceptance

**Okay, guys. Officially done with camp for the summer! But busy times approach. Senior year of college is starting, I have a temporary office job, andddd I have a lot of neglected summer work to do. So what am I gonna do? WRITE FANFIC! Here, have another chapter. Also, angels. PS- Don't forget to REVIEW. **

I've never had a problem with myself. Okay, that sounds kind of weird, but it's totally true. I've never looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. I've never wished for more talent or to be something I wasn't or to change who I loved. Being what I was never really bothered me. When I started wondering if maybe I was gay, I was kind of just like, huh, that's interesting. Now it's time for lunch. Totally no big deal. The only thing that bothered me sometimes was the fact I knew I wasn't very smart, but Santana told me time and again that I didn't need to be book smart because I was smart in ways that counted more. So mostly that didn't get to me, either. Accepting myself was, for me, really easy. It was Santana who didn't seem able to do that. Weird, right? Here she was, this hot, popular, super smart girl who only saw things about herself she wanted to change. Never could she see her reflection and think, gee, that really is me and I would never alter that. I looked at her that way – like she should never change –but Santana didn't know how to. It was like instead of regular mirrors, every photograph and reflection of herself was in funhouse glass. Distorted, expanded, hideous. And it wasn't just the exterior she saw that way, but her insides too. Her personality, her thoughts and feelings, her heart- all of this she saw in those same carnival mirrors. I wish I could have taken a hammer to all of them, or that I could have brought part of her to the window I saw her through so she could see how beautiful she truly was. But that was all metaphors (which, even though Rachel says they're important, actually confuse me most of the time). There wasn't really a mirror to break- only words that I didn't know how to say.

Acceptance.

I always thought that was a big part of what Glee Club was, but sometimes it was hard for us to remember that. Everyone picked at everyone else's flaws and it made it super difficult for us all to be a unit. That wasn't always a bad thing. Sometimes hearing your flaws helps you to look at yourself and see if they're things you can and want to change. But it's hard. I think this part of the club was especially hard for Santana because she didn't show that soft side ever. People picked at her flaws and she would just bitch back, hiding the vulnerable part of her that absorbed these criticisms and took them directly to heart. Later, I knew, she reexamined each and every word and hated herself a little more because of it. Most of the glee kids I was pretty sure could let this stuff roll off their backs. The comment would be made, they'd get insulted and talk it out, and then everything would be resolved quickly enough. The critiques didn't stick to them. They were rubber.

Santana, though, was superglue.

I think everyone forgot why Glee was so important to them in the first place. They forgot that each of them came for a different reason and stayed because they'd found a place to belong. It had been a while and Finn had forgotten that Glee let him be himself and Quinn forgot that these people had stuck with her after the rest of the school turned their backs on her and Tina had forgotten that she used to fake stutter before Glee club gave her the confidence to perform in front of huge crowds without stumbling. They had all forgotten- or, I guess, started taking for granted the acceptance they got every day from their friends that sang and danced at their sides. And in a way, that was good. They'd learned to accept each other and themselves. They shouldn't have had to think every day about how lucky they were to belong. Still, sometimes it's best to take a hard look at your life and remember where you are and why. Sometimes it's best to slow down, to pause, to think and take a moment to adjust your path and make sure you're still going in the right direction. I think that's what Mr. Schuester was trying to do the day her wrote ACCEPTANCE across our whiteboard. It was time to love who we were again.

I rarely understood his assignments. Ballads, duets, anthems… Ducks and blankets and angry songs were cool or whatever, but I preferred these kinds of things. He told us we were going to sing Born This Way and I smiled hugely, bouncing a bit in my seat. I loved that song. Santana and I loved Gaga in general. I looked behind me to see her grinning too and God, I was so excited. There was that part about lesbians and stuff in that song and a part of me wondered if Mr. Schuester knew what Santana was struggling with. But of course, I remembered not long after that he was pretty much generally oblivious to what was going on in our lives- especially Santana's, since she was by far one of his least favorite students. It wasn't hard to tell, and really, not hard to understand from his point of view. She wasn't like the others, who poured out their hearts to him. She was closed off, bitchy, suspicious of his motivations. There was a layer of respect for him over it all, but she wasn't very open to showing him the hidden parts of her. She wasn't open to showing _anyone _that. I hoped, seeing Acceptance scribbled there in plain sight, that this assignment would change that.

He and Miss Pillsbury were talking about the shirts now, about embracing that part of ourselves that we most wanted to change. It was only because I was watching her that I saw her face momentarily drop before she assumed her mask again. Blank. Always blank. I knew then that her shirt wouldn't be saying what it should be saying, and I felt a bit disappointed about it. Well, if she wouldn't take that step, then I would help her. That was my decision then and there as I watched everyone start to contemplate the phrase they wanted for their t-shirts. I was sure they all had lists of things they could use. I was also sure that there was only one word blaring in Santana's mind in that moment. "Do you want to hang out after school?" I asked her later as we moved to leave the choir room. She looked at me and smiled vaguely, the smile I'd been missing for weeks.

"Can't," she said at last. "I have a date with Dave Karofsky." The words surprised me and I paused, my eyebrows scrunching in confusion. She was smirking to herself, pleased with something about this, but I was still confused.

"What do you mean?"

"We're going on a date," she said again, a shoulder lifting. "Well, sort of. Listen, I'll tell you about it later, okay? I've gotta ga-…. Go. I've gotta go." And then she was gone and I was really confused. I was pretty sure that no one in Glee liked David Karofsky, especially after he'd bullied Kurt to the point our friend had left. I figured people like David were the ones Santana was afraid of- the ones who would say things, the ones who would be cruel if she were to tell everyone who and what she was. Well, there must have been something going on, but whatever. She said she'd tell me later, so I'd wait. Of course, had I known what I was waiting for, maybe I could have told her that she was doing it wrong. Maybe I could have told her that her motives were wrong and then she could have helped David rather than used him. But I didn't know until after she'd already gotten her plan going.

"He is capital G gay."

We were lying in my backyard, our heads resting in the grass beside one another. She'd been here for about an hour, but we'd spent the time quietly absorbing the feeling of being together like friends again. I'd missed her and that settled feeling and the way I could feel the warmth coming off her skin just from laying beside her, thought we weren't touching. The silence between us wasn't awkward now and it was starting to almost feel normal between us again. So needless to say, her sudden comment was startling and pretty confusing. "Who?" I asked, turning my head to stare at her. I wondered for a minute if she was talking about Kurt, but that was silly since we'd known that since like, third grade.

"Karofsky," she replied, her smirk coming back. She was pleased with herself still. I didn't understand what exactly David's being gay had to do with anything. I also didn't see why she'd be so pleased about it.

"I'm sorry?" I tried, though it came out as more of a question. "That must have made it an awkward date."

"It wasn't a real date, Britt." She rolled onto her stomach, eyes circling briefly before she reached out absently and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "It was all part of the plan to get Kurt back." And then she explained her idea, talking about the videos she and David had been watching before she'd come over and how he seemed almost genuine in his rehabilitation- her word, not mine. I didn't get it, though. I didn't understand why she and him were now pretending to date or why, since he was starting to see the light, he couldn't just tell everyone he was gay and learn to be himself. Then again, I'd been wondering that same thing about Santana for a while.

"So where does the mustache come in?" I asked, frowning up at her.

"We're being each other's beards to win prom queen and king and rule the school."

"Why can't you just help him and Kurt without the lying?" Santana's grin disappeared and she sat up quickly, frowning down at me. I struggled into a sitting position as well, fought to circle back around and tackle the conversation from a different direction. I didn't mean to offend her. I just wanted her to stop lying about herself with stuff like this. "I just mean that… I mean, why pretend to date another guy, San? Especially since you can't even make out with this one since he'll be just as interested in that as you are." Her frown only deepened and I sighed, struggling to find the right words. I wasn't helping myself here. "Just… let him apologize and get Kurt back. That part's a good plan. That's helping, that's being nice. Fake dating him, forcing him to grow a mustache, isn't. Go to prom with someone nice, San. Maybe even…" I hesitated, then shrugged and just said it. Why not, right? "Maybe even a girl." Her face went blank and I cursed myself inwardly. I'd pushed her too far. Santana wasn't ready for that. I opened my mouth to apologize and give another suggestion, but suddenly her lips were on mine and I was shocked into brief silence. She took advantage, her tongue darting out to trace my lower lip before dipping into my mouth. I moaned quietly, struggling to think as her familiar taste flooded through me. "San, I'm trying to… to talk to you…" Her hand lifted, curled into my hair to drag me closer as a low moan echoed in the back of her throat.

"We are talking," she panted out, our mouths still fused. "We're just doing it… with our tongues super close." I gave a strangled laugh at the logic, completely forgetting our discussion as I sank into the embrace. It was wrong and I knew it. There was Artie, there was Santana's plan, there was… so much going on. Too much. But I wasn't perfect, and one of my weaknesses happened to be the girl that then pushed me back into the grass and snuck a hand under my dress. I knew I should have pushed back, asked her to leave, and reminded her of my boyfriend. But it had been so long for us and I missed the perfect way we moved together. I missed how she knew where to touch and how and when. I missed the scent of her and the taste of her and the sound of her panting my name into my neck. So I stopped talking and started feeling. A mistake. I knew it was a mistake from the moment we started. How, though, could I say no? I should have continued the conversation and gotten her to drop the fake dating part. I tried to convince myself that I had convinced _her _and that she wouldn't go through with it. I was still convincing myself when Santana told the club her plan to get Kurt back. I knew it was genuine when she said 'I did it for us' and I couldn't help my proud smile, though I tried to stifle it.

But then she went on.

"And then something funny happened. Something… called love." I stared at their joined hands with disappointment before looking away again, shaking my head slightly. Why did Santana insist on doing stuff like this? I didn't get it. Why did she insist on making her own life more difficult? Well, that was it. I was going to have to help her. I thanked whoever was out there that the acceptance assignment was still going on- clearly she didn't get the concept and I was going to have to give her a little push. Either way, the good part of her plan worked and Kurt came back. I don't think it really changed anyone's opinion of Santana, though. They all expected ulterior motives from her. And though I thought there must have been something in it for her, I also knew she'd genuinely wanted to do something for the team. Something, I think, even she didn't realize.

"Hey. Do you like my shirt for Glee club?" I smiled at her and undid my jacket, grinning down at the bold arrow and the words 'I'm with Stoopid' now written across my chest. My heart was beating really fast because I knew, I _knew, _she was about to get really made at me. Like, super mad. Still, it was worth a try. Maybe I'd be able to open her eyes and get her to… I don't know… figure stuff out. 

"That's perfect," she said with a smile, and I knew she didn't mean because I was actually stupid, but because I was embracing my one major security. It was perfect because she understood me and knew this was the one thing I needed to learn to deal with. God, I'd missed having someone who knew me this perfectly. "Check out mine." Bitch. My smile faltered a bit as I looked at it because, hello, Santana _liked _being a bitch. She'd embraced it for years. I think she missed the point of the assignment. She sensed my disappointment because she asked defensively, "What?" Her own smile was gone. "This is perfect. Legend has it that when I came out of my mother, I told the nurse she was fat." Point proven. I'd known, of course, that she would do that. That she would try to avoid the one big L word we both knew was the first thing that came to mind when they spoke of the thing she wanted to change about herself.

"Well…" I took a big breath in, knowing that this was the moment she would get super mad at me. I was trembling a bit inside. We'd just gotten back on the right track and making her mad at me so wasn't on my list of how-to-stay-friends. Still, it was something that needed to be done. And since I'd known she wouldn't do it for herself… "I made a different one for you." I unfolded it, held my breath as I pressed the shirt to my own front and watched her expectantly.

"I'm Hispanic." Her answer confused me. I knew that. What did that have to do with the shirt? I was about to ask her why her subject changer was so random when something in her face changed and her dark eyes went wide, staring at my shirt. "Wait, was that supposed to be lesbian?" Her eyes darted to the side to make sure no one heard before focusing on me again. Again I was confused. That's what I'd written, yeah. Where was the confusion?

"Yeah, isn't that what it says?" I glanced down, read it upside down. Lebanese. Well, crap. That's what I got for staying late and thinking about Lebanese for dinner while making my shirt. Words were easy to confuse when you were tired, hungry, and… well, generally not good with words to begin with. Ah, well. She got the point now and it was time to explain myself before she got too pissed. "When you told me all that stuff the other week, it meant so much to me. To see you be so honest." I folded the shirt, awkwardly avoiding her eyes for a moment as I fumbled with it. Then I looked up at her. She didn't look pissed yet, so I pressed on. "Especially because I know how bad it hurt." Okay, now she was starting to look pissed. I watched her, pleading with my eyes for her to understand, to see why I'd done this for her. "I was so proud of you."

"Yeah, well don't get used to it." She looked away from me, snatched things from her locker as my heart dropped to my stomach. "And certainly don't even think about telling anyone." The order confused me, made me a little angry. I was so sick of this being some state secret. Why did it matter? Why did she care so freaking much about hiding herself away? Why couldn't she see that it wasn't a bad thing?

"Why not?" I demanded. "You're like... the most awesomest girl at this school. Why would you try to _hide _any of that?"

"I'm dating Karofsky now." My lips pressed firmly together. I wanted to yell, bullshit. I wanted to shake her until she stopped lying to me, to herself. We both knew it was fake. We both knew she was pretending.

"That's gross," I said, frustrated.

"You don't get a say in who I date anymore?" When did I ever? I wanted to ask. When did I ever have a say? From the beginning it had been Santana versus the world. She'd slept with Puck the first time without telling me shed was going to. She dated him, and several other boys, without once asking me how I felt. Puck, Sam, Finn, Karofsky… It had never been up to me.

"Why not? Because I'm dating somebody? Because you're Lebanese and I think I'm bicurious?" God, she was so ridiculous sometimes. I could feel my temper building, something that rarely happened and both startled and angered me further.

"No! because I said I love you." I softened a little at the words, glad to hear it was 'love' and not 'loved' yet. "You didn't say you love me back." I had, though. I'd said it so many times. I'd been the first of the two of us to say it and mean it. The fact she was tossing it back in my face now had that building temper spiking violently.

"I _do _love you. Clearly you don't love you as much as I do or you'd put that shirt on and you'd dance with me." There it was. There was the message I'd been trying to convey. She didn't love herself. She was hiding herself away, trying to be someone she wasn't. I loved her, everything she was and everything she tried not to be. Santana didn't know how to embrace it. I couldn't continue the conversation then, however. I was afraid of saying something I'd regret, afraid of crying in front of her again. I'd long ago resolved to never do that again. I shoved the shirt into her arms and stormed off, unable to even look at her now. My blood was boiling as I walked quickly down the hall, searching for some sort of quiet place to calm down.

"Brittany-" Artie tried to stop me, but I shook my head at him and walked by without a word, eyes burning with anger, irritation, and sadness. I wanted Santana to get why I loved her. I wanted her to love herself, too. But she couldn't, or she didn't want to, and that… That hurt me as much as it would hurt her in the long run. It wasn't that by accepting herself, we'd suddenly be dating and all our problems would be resolved. Acceptance wasn't dating – because there was still Artie – but it was a step toward a healthier relationship and a better chance of us getting somewhere one day.

The day of the performance, she didn't appear onstage. It was Artie who asked, "Where's Santana?" his eyes briefly falling on me before flicking away again. I wondered why he asked, if he was trying to get her in trouble by pointing out her absence. Later I realized he was trying to point it out to me more than Schue- where _was _Santana?

"Prob'ly off somewhere making out with Karofsky." I flinched at Sam's words. I'd almost forgotten that she'd still been technically dating him until recently. I wondered if she'd actually officially dumped him or if this whole David thing had been her way of ending it. "Yeah, whatever." I sighed and looked away, and not a second later, Mr. Schue cued the music. I guessed we weren't waiting. Still, I pushed it away- the sting of rejection, the disappointment, the need – and danced to one of my favorite songs. I really liked this assignment and I didn't see why I shouldn't embrace it even if Santana wasn't. We sang and danced. People revealed their shirts and I was so proud of everyone for taking these things and making them theirs again, accepting them despite the fact it was stuff they didn't like about themselves. I loved everyone in Glee so much. They were my second family, and I was so glad to be onstage with them like this.

When we finished, I laughed and cheered breathlessly, hugging people and congratulating everyone on the success of the assignment. It was only a moment later when I felt light fingers on my arm. Quinn smiled faintly at me when I looked up at her and I smiled back. She nodded her head out towards the audience and I looked where she directed me, surprised and pleased to see Santana and Karofsky sitting towards the back of the orchestra seating. My eyes went wide and my smile spread. She had come. Maybe she hadn't gotten up onstage, but she'd come, and she was wearing the shirt. I watched her stand and took a step towards the stage to go meet her. Our eyes locked across the rows of chairs. Before I could even shout her name, however, she was turning on her heel and leaving the auditorium again with David Karofsky trailing along slowly behind her. She didn't say a word.

Again I felt Quinn's hand on my arm and I continued to stare at the door Santana had disappeared through for a moment before looking down at her again. The shorter blonde raised an eyebrow and I shrugged. Our silent communication wasn't as good as between me and Santana, but we'd been friends long enough to understand each other enough. I don't think she was really sure what she was asking, though, so the shrug and the sad smile I offered were the best I could do given the circumstances. Santana didn't want me to tell anyone so I wouldn't tell anyone. Not even Quinn. Still, I took comfort in my friend's presence. "Want to go out for coffee, Britt?" she asked me quietly, her voice low so that none of the other glee club members would invite themselves. I nodded even though I didn't drink coffee. I always got caramel apple cider when we went to the Lima Bean. "Okay. I'll drive. Grab your stuff and meet me in the parking lot in five." I nodded and did as she said. Ten minutes later we were parking in the parking lot of the local café, the car falling silent as Quinn turned it off again. She didn't move to get out, however, and we both sat silently staring forward through the windshield. "Santana isn't Lebanese," she offered after a minute.

"She'd Puerto Rican," I agreed with a small nod. I folded my arms across my chest and stared out the passenger side window instead, avoiding Quinn's gaze.

"So what's with the shirt?" She looked at me then and I remember feeling hesitant, fearful. Santana would be upset if I told. Especially if I told Quinn, who might use the little tidbit to bring Santana down in the future. "Britt? Was it supposed to be…" I stilled, muscles tense. "Lesbian?" A strangled sound escaped before I stopped breathing altogether, fingernails digging crescent shaped marks into my forearms. Oh, God, Quinn wasn't supposed to… "You love her, don't you?" My eyes filled and I nodded because that wasn't a secret for me. God, I'd waited ages for someone to know how I felt about her, but no one ever realized. "And… she loves you." Tears spilled down my cheeks for the first time in weeks, the salty taste of them dampening my lips. I hated that, hated crying. I always had. Again I nodded, though maybe it was a mistake. The fact Quinn could see that, though… The fact she could understand Santana that way and say love instead of the other words she could have chosen… That's what made me silently confess. Her hand gripped my knee and squeezed gently, a sigh escaping her. When I at last chanced a look at her, she was smiling. It wasn't her HBIC smile, though. It was soft, sweet. Like she'd known all along.

"She'll be mad that you know." I whispered the words, sniffing and wiping at my face.

"I won't tell her," she said with a small shrug. "Come on, B. Let's go get our drinks." And then she was out of the car, disappearing into the Lima Bean without further comment. Her easy acceptance made me wonder if it would be that easy with everyone. If acceptance was all Santana needed…

Maybe acceptance could be dating one day.


	10. Admittance

**BOO. Yeah, here's another chapter. Written just for you, despite my busy as hell week. Rehearsals and performances every day this week from ten to ten- or later. Fun times. Sooo enjoy. C: And don't forget to review. ALSO THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M SO. Less-than-three!**

I was really struggling to handle all of the stuff going on in my life. I'm not a complicated person, really. In my mind, things are fairly consistent, fairly simple. If I love someone, then I love them, and why does it matter if they're a boy or a girl? But of course, the world is not like that. People are not like that. Santana was not like that. My best friend, despite her habit of planning every step she made, tended to attract the complicated. It was harder for her to see that things like love were not really as hard as she thought they were. After Born This Way, we kind of made up. 'Kind of' being the most important words here. We were friendly, but we weren't acting like friends. Not the way I was used to. I missed talking and cuddling and spending the night at each other's houses. She'd been avoiding me and I was really confused and really hurt by it all. I just wanted my best friend back.

Not that I didn't have other friends, because I did. I was friendly with just about everyone in the entire school and pretty close to everyone in Glee. I had Artie and Quinn and Mike and Mercedes and Tina and like… everyone else. I was more concerned about Santana, who had… well, no one, really. Sure, she could whatever guy she wanted over at her place in less than ten minutes and yeah, Quinn cared about her, but there was no one else who really knew her like I did; no one else who heard her, no one else who _saw _her- really saw her. And in a way, there was no one else who really saw me, either. We completed each other's puzzles and I didn't see why she was so stuck on hiding who she was. If she didn't want to be a lesbian, she didn't have to be. Labels are for Crayola crayons (because let's face it, the different shades could get confusing if you didn't have labels that told you one was 'red-orange' and another was just 'orange'). But people don't come in pre-packed boxes. People can be so, so different from one another. Not just in color, but in shape and size and heart and soul. There's no way to find a label to fit all of that at the same time.

That isn't to say that labels are useless because I'm pretty sure having a word to claim really helps people to figure themselves out. Santana, I knew, didn't like the sex she had with men. If she did, she wouldn't have to go to me after each and every time with one. When you have sex you like with someone, you aren't eager to jump into bed with the next available person. If it's good, then you want that same person again and again. That's why, I knew, Santana continuously came back to me. What we had was… I don't think I'm good enough with words to think of one. Amazing? Perfect? Even they seem too weak. The point being that sometimes people needed a word, and if such a word existed, hers was 'lesbian.' She just needed time to accept that. And that was fine. I could wait for her to figure that part out.

But I couldn't wait for my friend anymore.

I just didn't know what to do with my time. It became something to waste whenever I wasn't with Artie, which is more than Santana seemed to realize. At school and sometimes after school, I was with him. But my nights were free. Most of my weekends were free. I just waited and waited for something to happen without getting any results. So I came up with Fondue for Two. It started out of boredom one day, me filming little silly things with my cats, Charity and Lord Tubbington (Charity being the more camera shy of the two). I had always had a secret love for the news and journalism and stuff so I thought, why not make myself a TV journalist? When people seemed to like those, I moved on to other topics of interest- and what interests high schoolers more than, well, high school? I don't really know why I did it. A mixture of reasons, I suppose, mixed with coach Sylvester reviving the school newspaper. I didn't like her, but she had what I wanted. A voice. So I took it and I ran with it.

Then I did something kind of dumb. I outted Santana on my show.

I don't know why I did it. I mean, there I was, sitting with Tina and Mercedes discussing school gossip, when it came pouring out of me. "I heard a rumor that Santana plays for the other team. And I can confirm that rumor- it's one hundred percent true." I licked cheese off of my finger and wondered why the heck I'd just did that- Santana would kill me. Santana would be so scared and hurt and _angry. _This was worse than that time I'd accidentally on purpose let it slip on a party call with the glee club kids. This was public viewing on youtube. Anyone with internet access could view it. And I had just outted my best friend, then confirmed that it was, in fact, true. I was quick to change the subject, but it had been done. I needed to think of a quick way to deny it because it wasn't fair to her. It wasn't my secret to share, it was Santana's.

_What Prom Queen Candidate is spending a Lot of Time in Her Closet? _

The headline seemed to jump out of the page at me, despite the slew of other articles. I kept looking at it over and over, wondering how in God's name the rumor had spread fast enough that the article had been printed in the newspaper the very next day. I couldn't deal with this. Santana was going to… God, I didn't even want to know. Reputation. That all important word again. This was going to be a hit to hers, and probably not a very positive one. If people got this, if people actually _believed _it… Her chances at prom queen would go down. I didn't want that. As much as I'd rather she be herself, doing it like this was not the right way. I needed a story, and fast. Of course, me thinking fast never ended up with the _best _stories…

"_This _is your fault!" She marched in brandishing the newspaper and I knew I was out of time. My eyes went wide as I stared back at her, wracking my brain for something, anything, to cover this up. I didn't want her mad at me. Not when we were already on shaky ground in our friendship. "You told everyone I play for _another team_ on your _ridiculous _melted cheese show." It was funny how Santana said things I know she didn't mean when she had her defenses up. For one, I knew for a fact she watched Fondue for Two every time I posted one. She always commented on it, saying something about whatever gossip I happened to be speaking about. The next thing I noticed, because we were Brittany and Santana and it was easy to notice things like this with us, is that she did not use the word 'stupid' to describe it. Santana called a lot of things stupid, but it was never, ever something she connected to me. It had been that way since we were five.

"Wait, are you mad?" Duh. I knew she was. I've never had to ask that, even if she was very rarely mad at me. The thing was, it had been happening between us way too often lately and I was actually not as startled as I should have been. But that wasn't the point. I was still trying to cover it up, still trying to make it better. I couldn't lose her again. "You do play for another team." _Don't mess this up, Brittany. _"You were on the Cheerios and now you're… only in the New Directions." Lame, but it would play. Everyone thought I was stupid, after all. Santana, though, didn't believe it. She rolled her eyes, anger coming off of her in scary waves.

"And you couldn't think of any other way to say that?" she snapped back before her attention was snagged by the drama taking place next to us. I watched her through it, watched her process, and I knew almost exactly what she was thinking as if I could read her mind. Their drama was bigger, more explosive. Everyone's attention had been taken away from us to focus on Finn, Sam, Quinn, and Rachel. Everyone's but mine and Santana's and Artie's, actually. She gave me one final look then before making an angry sound and spinning away from me. Later, though, she would realize that no one thought I meant she was gay anymore and she was in the clear. Later, she would stop being mad. I was sure of it. I really, really hoped so. My eyes stung as I watched her walk away from me again, sadness shaping my features. When she was seated and facing away from me, I looked away, only to find Artie watching me with narrowed eyes. I offered a smile and a shrug, but he turned away with a frown, and I couldn't help but worry. Why was he mad at me, too? I couldn't win today.

I thought it had all blown over. I mean, mostly my mind was on Santana and how we hardly ever talked, but because she seemed to have mostly forgiven it by the next day, I thought everything was okay again. I was wrong. Because suddenly there was Artie asking me, "What's going on with you and Santana?" and I was suddenly unsure of what to say. Currently? That was easy enough to answer.

"Nothing." Not a lie. Right now, there was really nothing going on. We were hardly even talking, let alone 'going on' or whatever. I remember feeling guilty, and yet not feeling guilty at the same time. It's hard to explain, really, because I knew that what Santana and I had been doing before was technically cheating. That was bad, and it wasn't Artie's fault that I was dating him even when I was in love with someone else. I loved him and I didn't want to hurt him, but I was always so bad at lying. So when he went on, I tried to make it seem like I didn't realize. It was self preservation at that point and I didn't think, just talked. They were things she'd said, after all. Just… out of context. I couldn't lose Artie too, though. I couldn't lose them both. Maybe it was selfish, but I didn't want to be alone. Not then.

He went on and all I could think while he talked was that he had really horrible self-esteem. I felt bad for him, felt bad for doing what I did, and I really wanted him to realize that I really _did _like him. He was such a sweet guy- nice and funny and sweet. He paid attention to me and he cared. Sometimes, though, I think he was focused too much on himself. This… Well, it really wasn't about him. He'd kind of gotten stuck in the middle. So when he said that Santana was using his weaknesses to break them up as some sort of weird plot against _him… _Well, I had to defend her. I knew that wasn't what she was doing. The only reason she was with me was for me. Artie didn't know that she loved me. Artie didn't know that what we shared wasn't about sex or… what was the word he used… Manipulation. It was about feelings- it always had been, even before Santana had admitted them. "No." On this I was firm. I couldn't let him get that picture of her. "Everybody thinks she's a bad person, but she's not." She held me when I cried during Finding Nemo because I was afraid I would end up like Dori. She helped me with my Spanish homework and didn't cheat because she knew I hated cheating. She helped me get Charity when the cat got outside and climbed a tree, even though she hated her. Santana loved me. Santana wasn't the Santana everyone thought she was. Not inside where it counted. It was really starting to frustrate me that no one could see it. Now, I'm not mad anymore at Artie for what he said then. I was, but looking back now, it was what ultimately brought Santana and me back to a level that was more familiar.

At the time, though, it was like being slapped across the face.

"God, Brittany, why are you so _stupid?" _That word. I hated that word. That was the one word that could tear me down instantly. He said it and I could feel the shock shoot through me, every part of me frozen as I stared down at him. I waited for him to take it back, waited for him to apologize, but neither thing happened. He kept staring back as if waiting for me to say 'Well I'm stupid because…' But I didn't have an answer for him. I felt like I'd been torn apart from the inside out, my heart beating too fast in my chest while my breaths came out in ragged gasps. Then my face crumpled and the tears started.

"You're the only person in this school that never called me that," I choked out before turning and walking away. I didn't know what to do. I'd left my books in my locker, but I wasn't about to turn around and go get them. I needed something. I needed someone. _Santana. _It was the only name that kept going through my head until finally I fumbled out my phone and sent a text, my hands shaking so badly that it came out a jumbled mess of typos. It didn't matter. She'd get the message and understand it perfectly. _Because she's Santana. _No one understood me like she did and I needed her so badly now.

She was at my side in minutes and I found my favorite drink pressed into my hands (she must have snuck off school grounds for it), the smallest smile tugging at my lips despite my sadness. It was such a Santana thing to do. As quickly as the smile appeared, however, it fell again. _So stupid, so stupid, so stupid… _The words kept going and going and going in my head, like that ride at the fair that went around in circles. My face crumpled and more tears fell. I could feel them, hot and wet on my cheeks, and I hated that he could put them there with just the one word. Words, though, were important. Even if I messed them up sometimes, I knew they had value. Words like reputation. Words like loser or freak or stupid or dyke. Words like love and dating. Words like Santana and Brittany. Words like forever. I never underestimated the importance of words, especially when only one could push me over an edge like this one. "Why would he call me that?" I sniffled, and Santana sighed a little as she ran a hand up and down my arm.

"Because he's an asshole." Her voice was gentle, soothing, but there's an edge to it that I know means she's really, super angry. Even madder than when I outted her on Fondue for Two, which was saying something. Santana stepped closer to me then, tan fingers wiping my tears away before she cupped the back of my head and drew me closer, fingers running through my hair. It was the closest we'd ever been in public, the most intimate gesture she'd ever given me at school. I was surprised and fought not to show it, eyes focused on the drink I'd yet to take a sip of. "And because he doesn't understand you like I do." That much was true. I'd always known that. It just surprised me to hear Santana echo the thought as if she'd known it all along, which I guess she had.

"He was usually really sweet to me," I mumbled at last, stirring the drink I held slowly. I was hurting. I didn't think it would hurt this badly, but it did. I had loved him, and despite the fact I hadn't been _in _love with him, it still cut deep. But he said some mean stuff about you. Like he knows you better than I do. I couldn't just say nothing… He's the only one at this school who's never called me that."

""Okay, not fair," she mumbled into my ear. "I was five. I didn't even know what stupid meant." That earned a smile from me because I remembered perfectly well the one time Santana had called me stupid. It hadn't even been at me directly, but at the pink unicorn I'd been drawing. She hadn't said that word since.

"It still counts," I countered, but I was teasing, trying to make the situation feel less heavy than it did. I was scared she was going to run off and push Artie and his chair off a cliff or something if I didn't keep her with me. I heard her laugh just a little, a quiet chuckle beside me as she nuzzled briefly against my cheek. Then she was pulling back again slightly, looking at me in all seriousness. "The point being," she said at last, "That he's just a stupid boy and you deserve _so _much better than him." I heard the silent _like me _but she didn't say it, so I tried not to think it. "And B. You are one of the smartest people I know. I'm not even bullshitting you right now. It's not fucking _grades _that matter. It's people, and it's heart. And you're the best at both of those things. Now come on." Her fingertip booped my nose before her arm circled my shoulders, leading me away from the cafeteria, and the gesture took me back to a time when we were happy. I missed her. I missed being close to her. I needed her.

"Okay." As we walked, I leaned my weight into her and let her steer me. I remember feeling tired, but so warm from her closeness. I didn't have the ability to control what I said anymore. I was so, so tired. I just wanted to curl up in her arms and sleep for days. "I love you, San," slipped as we completely left the school and headed out towards her car.

Yet she didn't go tense, she didn't stiffen beside me. I felt her hesitate a moment before her lips pressed to my hair and she whispered, "I love you too, Britt."

We ended up back at her house, I think because she wanted to make sure I was alright. It was easier to watch over me when I wasn't all the way at my house, surrounded by my family, easier at hers where there was no one else around. And honestly, I wanted to be there too. We'd been apart for too long and I hated thinking of her here by herself all the time. I wanted to be there for her as much as for myself. We talked for hours- about Artie, about David, about school and glee and music and whatever else came to mind. We watched movies because we could. We held on to one another because it was how we were.

And after we went to bed, when she leaned over and kissed me, we didn't talk about anything. We said it all with our lips and hands and bodies, moving together with so much beauty that I couldn't help the fact another tear fell. I didn't know why I was crying, but Santana didn't seem bothered. She kissed it away as we rolled slowly over together, her body hovering over mine. I stared up at her without shame, fingers trailing zigzagged lines over tan skin as she watched me. For a long time, we only looked at each other. I remember wanting to just… absorb her into me, every part of her, so that I could have her forever. I can remember every sensation. The way her skin felt, the way my name sounded on her lips, the way she didn't smell of cologne or mint toothpaste or cigarette smoke- just pure Santana. The way she leaned close to me, her dark hair falling in a curtain around our faces, shielding us from the world as her hand came between us and she filled me. I can remember every loving word that caressed my skin as she whispered them into me, kisses falling on every inch of skin she could reach. I remember how it felt to reach between us and slip inside of her in return, fitting easily back into the familiar warmth of her and our love. I suddenly understood why Artie couldn't possibly comprehend this, because surely only those who had found their soulmates could know what making love to them was like. I watched her rock against me as we found a familiar rhythm, watched as every well-known – and yet, rediscovered – expression shaped her breathtaking features. I could see the love and joy and need as she so lovingly moved inside of me, her lips parted just slightly.

"_Te amo, _Brittany. _Te amo, te amo, te amo." _And maybe I wasn't smart, but I'd known Santana forever and I was actually pretty good at Spanish, so I knew exactly what she was whispering over and over as we went under the waves of fulfillment together. I was content to drown in her arms as long as she'd keep saying it forever. _Te amo, te amo, te amo. _

"I love you, I love you, I love you, Santana," I whispered back, and I kissed her face over and over to sooth her as we came down together, both of us shaking in the aftermaths. Her fingers curled into mine and we both wrapped around each other, content in silence for a long time.

"I have to tell you something, B." She whispered it from where she lay beside me and I glanced over, studying her face closely. It had been some time since we'd last spoken and our voices sounded almost strange in the darkness.

"What is it?" I whispered back, sensing its importance. When she hesitated, I added quietly, "You can tell me anything, Santana. I would never, ever judge you."

Santana's eyes filled, her hands flexing in mine. "I'm a lesbian," she whispered brokenly. And then again, louder, "I'm a lesbian." It wasn't news, but I knew she'd never really said it out loud before. Not like this. So I could only stare, amazed that she was saying it then. She scooted forward and pressed into me, burying her face in the crook of my neck. "I'm a fucking dyke, Brittany." And then I held her as she soaked my skin with her tears, her small frame shaking with the violent sobs I was sure tore up from her very soul. I held her, and for once I didn't know what to say to my best friend in the entire world. So I just held on as she let her self-hatred pour out, my fingers tracing the words 'I love you' over her bare back again and again and again.

_Please love you, too._

I remember a time when we'd been young – maybe thirteen or so – and we sat down to watch a movie together. We'd picked it based purely on the title, as we did when we had Random Movie Night, thinking it would be similar to Bring It On (and all its sequels- we loved that series). It didn't take us long into the film, however, to realize that But I'm a Cheerleader was… well, not at all like it. Cheerleading was in it for maybe two seconds, but there was a lot of focus on boobs and butt and I was a little confused. That wasn't how I thought of cheerleading. Evidently Santana wasn't impressed, either. "Shit, this is a gay movie," she groaned as she reached for the remote. I shooed her hand away, grabbing it myself to hide it between the cushions on my other side.

"Santana, I want to watch," I whined, poking out my lower lip in a small pout. I wanted to see where it was going- I didn't like when I couldn't finish a movie. It would bother me until I got to see the end. She, of course, knew this well and rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned back to the TV without a word- I always won. Over the course of the film, she made small sounds of disapproval or disgust, though she never commented. It wasn't until the scene at the gay night club that I noticed her squirming uncomfortably beside me. Then the actresses on screen were kissing and she was yelling, "Okay, gross!" and lunging at me to try and get the remote. This ended up as a struggle between us because I wanted to see the end, which of course led to her yelling "Gimme the remote, Britt!" before tickling me. I cried out and laughed and squirmed, tears streaming down my face. I had rolled backwards in an attempt to get away, but she had followed, straddling my hips to continue her attack.

A few minutes passed and we were panting on the couch from the struggle, Santana hovering over me with one hand pinning my hands above my head while the other rested on my hip where she'd been digging in aggressive fingers moments before. I couldn't help but smile at her, and she smiled back warmly. I didn't notice then, but remembering now I recall how close our faces were; a breath away, so close that my lips might have been tingling had I known at that age what it felt like to have hers on mine. But I didn't realize then how we lined up perfectly, how faultlessly our bodies fit. All I could think was that it was nice and warm and comfortable and safe and so _Santana _that I wouldn't have minded missing the movie if I could stay there all night. She must have realized, though. Suddenly she was rolling off of me, sitting up on her end of the couch to face the movie again. She didn't ask me to turn it off and I took it as silent agreement that I had won (again) and let the movie play on. She didn't say a word or make another sound. She just watched, dark eyes taking in every reaction the people had to the actresses.

And missed, I think, the way the characters in the movie were happier together than they ever were apart.

Later I rambled on about how good the movie was and how glad I was the two girls had gotten to run off together because "People who are in love should always have happy endings." Santana scoffed.

"Those two were _gross. _Two girls kissing isn't right. She should have just gone home and gotten herself a boyfriend who wasn't as creepy as the one she had. Puck never does that with _his _tongue." Santana smirked to herself as she climbed into her bed, yanking the blankets up over herself. I frowned and shook my head a little, turning off the lights before climbing in beside her.

"Why does it matter if they're two girls if they love each other?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. "It shouldn't matter, right? Feelings are what counts."

"Girls can't kiss girls, Britt," she mumbled, rolling over to snuggle into me as she always did. "It's wrong. Just don't worry about it, 'kay? That's all you need to know." I nodded slowly and fell silent, listening to her breathing until it reached the familiar rhythm of her sleeping. I thought maybe this one time Santana was wrong and I was right. A person's a person no matter how small. That's what Dr. Seuss said.

I didn't understand why a person couldn't be a person no matter who they love.

Years later and there we were, curled up together in the same exact bed. The positions were the same, Santana curled into me with my arms around her. She had cried herself to sleep and I didn't dare let her go, knowing that if I did, all of her demons would get her in her dreams. I thought back on that time she'd said kissing girls was wrong, how adamantly she'd believed it. And now here we were. Santana confessed to being exactly what she hated.

Didn't they always say that admittance was the first step?

**Okay, done with this one. Gonna split up rumours becaaause… I can. C: Review and stuff and stuff. Also, any typos? My apologies. Too lazy to edit. **


	11. Soul mates

**So like. There are going to be typos in this because I'm going to be too emotionally unstable to re-read it. I'm warning you now. I haven't even started writing this chapter as I write this author's note and I can tell you Songbird and Fondue for Two are going to kill me. So. Here we go~**

She woke up before me and was not in bed by the time I cracked my eyes open. This didn't surprise me. Usually when we had a rough night, she would get up and go into her parents' home gym to burn off some energy and clear her head. This was a Santana thing so no, it didn't surprise me. Still, I wished that I had woken up to her face instead of her pillow. It was always nicer after a hard night to be able to wake up and smile at her and kiss her good morning so that I could tell her without telling her that everything would be okay. Secretly I think she liked mornings like these the best too, but they were the ones that scared her the most and so were the ones she wanted most to run from. Telling your best friend you're a lesbian definitely counted as a hard night, I think, so I guess she deserved to be out of bed already. Not because it was a shock to me, but because… Well, it was probably the first time she'd called herself that out loud. I didn't have a right to be mad at her, and I wasn't. I was just… sad.

I worked hard to make myself seem okay that morning. I carefully selected my outfit for the day from the stash of clothes I kept in her closet, styled my hair, and applied makeup some of the makeup I kept in a bag in one of her drawers. "Just keep swimming," I whispered to myself when I was finished, studying my blue eyes in Santana's mirror. My lips curved in an attempt at a smile and I wondered what it was that would keep it there that day. I couldn't think of anything and I was quickly losing the battle against the pout I knew wanted to settle on my face. It was okay. I figured I'd just tell everyone that I thought Lord Tubbington and Charity were going to run away to join the kitty version of the Peace Corps or something- which was one hundred percent true and only added to the heavy sadness on my shoulders that morning. I remember that just turning away from the mirror was a struggle. I felt like it wasn't going to be a very good day- Santana leaving, no Artie, the threat of my cats running away for an aid organization thing… It all made for a very upset Brittany.

Of course, people often wake up expecting one thing but end up getting another. That was a life lesson I always forgot I had learned until the next time I learned it.

I wandered down the stairs and started towards the door, only to pause when I heard someone rattling around in the kitchen. At first I thought it was a cat burglar and I remember thinking that he wasn't a very good one if he was stealing pans and – I sniffed – eggs and bacon in broad daylight. Curious, I slipped quietly into the room only to see Santana herself making breakfast. She was humming to herself, something soft and sweet, and my heart kind of butterfly kicked like they teach you in swim lessons, only faster. "San," I started, and my voice must have scared her because she swore and turned around fast, her eyes big in her face. She pressed a hand to her heart and I smiled at her. "What were you singing? It was pretty."

"I wasn't singing, I was humming. Sit down." She pointed her spatula at a chair and, rolling her eyes, returned to cooking the food. I watched her for a few minutes until she was settling plates on the table and I was looking at it all with wide eyes. There were the eggs and back I had smelled, as well as toast smeared with jelly and a big glass of chocolate milk, stirred to the perfect level of chocolatey goodness. Santana liked to cook but she didn't do it a lot because our diets from the Cheerios hadn't allowed things like chocolate milk or solid food. To smell it all and see it and know it was for us had my mouth watering.

"What's all this?" I asked, looking more for a reason explaining the meal than an actual definition of the food in front of me.

"Breakfast," she shot back, and the way she smirked at me alerted me to the fact she knew exactly what I was asking and chose to be a smartie pants instead. "See, Britt? Sweet and salty, just like you like it." I smiled in acknowledgement and, blushing, ate the meal she'd made for me. The rest of the morning passed quickly and we talked a lot. On the drive to school, she kept my hand tucked in hers and smiled her special just-for-me smile the entire time. I started to feel hopeful, started to believe that maybe we were going to get somewhere now that I wasn't dating Artie and Santana was finally starting to understand herself. I was so hopeful and, as usual, so naïve. I thought then that maybe things were starting to work out the way they were supposed to.

To be fair, I think that's how Santana meant it to turn out when she touched my hand at lunch and told me she had something to show me. I didn't think twice before getting up from the table and following her from the cafeteria. She led me quietly to the choir room, but I didn't mind the silence this time because I could tell she was thinking and I was thinking too. I had been missing Artie all day. Not in that way that people normally miss their ex-boyfriends, I guess. I mean, I wasn't crying in a corner over it every chance I got. I guess I was more upset that we'd lost that friendship too and that things were awkward between us. I was upset over the things he'd said still and so maybe my day was a little blue, but Santana had been trying to cheer me up all day. "Can I ask you something, Britt?" I looked at her as we walked through the choir room door and she softly shut it behind us, her eyes watching every movement intently like she'd do it wrong if she didn't.

"Anything, Santana," I returned honestly and we started walking again until we reached the shiny black piano. I leaned against it and waited for her to speak, watching out of the corner of my eye as she hesitated before settling her hands against the piano as well.

"How do you feel? Without Artie?"

It wasn't what I'd been expecting and I looked down again and sighed, thinking it over. It didn't hit me then what her question was looking for. I tended to take things like that at face value and so I thought hard about it. What did not having Artie make me feel? Well, sad. We'd been close friends and now I could hardly even look at him without getting upset. "I'm so sad," I replied at last, staring at my fingers. "A sad little panda." Something in me told me not to look up, to wait until Santana made the first move. I didn't know why she'd asked and I wasn't sure how she'd feel about my answer, so I waited. I could be patient. She'd been so sweet to me all day- it was only fair I gave her a chance to speak her mind. I was again surprised when, in place of the Artie abuse I'd been expecting, my best friend kept the focus on me. I heard her as she took a deep breath and I steeled myself for something like _well he's a stupid boy _or _fuck him, you're too hot for that sack of meat-on-wheels anyway._

Instead she said softly, "Well that's why I brought you here." There was a strange uncertainty to her voice and I looked up at her, trying to figure out what she was feeling. There were so many feelings in her eyes. My mom told me when I was little that the eyes were the windows to the soul. I wasn't quite sure what it meant then, but in that moment, staring up at her, I figured it out. I could see through them, into them, all the way down deep where the fear and hope and love lingered. Those eyes were an unlocked window, an open invite. I could see it all, just as I could see reflected there everything that I felt. It was only a second of eye contact, but somehow all of that got communicated and I felt my hands start to shake, just a little, from the enormity of it all. Her head tilted and she offered a small smile as she added, "To cheer you up." Her hand reached out and gripped mine softly and I hoped she didn't feel the way my fingers shook as she tugged me away from the piano to explain. "I've been going through that Rumours album-" she had? "And I found the best song that really goes one step past Landslide in expressing my feelings for you." Her hand released mine and I had to sit down because my legs felt like jell-o and I was afraid that if I didn't, I'd just melt into a wiggly jiggly puddle right there in front of her. Santana had a song for me. About her feelings. She was going to sing a song about her feelings to me without anyone helping her at all. My lips parted, but I couldn't think of anything to say. Our eyes met again and there was that same exposed look in her eyes before she tacked on quietly, "Private feelings," and turned away.

I knew what that meant. Or part of me did, at least. Santana had decided to share her feelings – feelings I already knew she had, feelings I wasn't waiting for her to repeat but to share – at a time when she knew no one else would see. That part of me that was still hopeful wanted to believe it was because she needed to know my response before she opened herself up like that, but the other part reminded me that she already knew what my answer was so why would she be so nervous unless she still didn't want anyone to know? I wasn't sure which side was winning and so I tried to distract my thoughts- and that's when I noticed Brad. He was watching me steadily through his glasses and I realized then that she was, in fact, sharing what she felt about me with someone who wasn't me. I couldn't help but point it out, hoping to get more of an explanation. "What about him?"

Santana spun back towards me with her hand light on the piano top. "He's just furniture," she dismissed with a small wave. I gave her a look and she turned toward him and added hastily, "Sorry. No offense. Hit it." I gave the shrugging man one last look before all of my nervous energy focused on Santana. I took a deep breath and settled back, prepared to watch and absorb the message I already understood. Or I thought I did. That's the thing about the relationship I had with Santana. No matter how well I knew her, no matter how perfectly I understood, she managed to pull out surprise after surprise. I was proud of her. Even as she stood shakily in front of me, her hands clutching at each other as they did when she was nervous, she was still doing it. She was still standing up. That, as well as the song choice, surprised me. I wasn't the best with lyrics. Memorizing them took me forever, which is why I leaned more towards the dancing solos rather than the singing ones. I didn't always understand, mostly because I wasn't always the best with words, and to be honest Songbird wasn't all that different. I got a few of the lines, but I didn't know where the birds fit in and stuff like that. The understanding I got from it… I got from Santana's eyes. The way she moved, the way she looked, the way she breathed- all of it highlighted the meaning better than any score sheet could. I saw the apology, the need, the fear. But mostly I saw the love. Her eyes whispered the words even before she echoed it in song.

_And I love you, I love you, I love you like never before…_

I couldn't help but smile, tears stinging my eyes because, oh God, it was so beautiful. I can't explain the feeling. I'm not good enough with words to manage it. When the person you've loved all of your life bares their soul to you like that, it is the most moving experience of any experience ever had, ever. To know that everything you feel is so completely and totally felt in return… I forced myself to keep the tears in because I didn't want her to think she was doing something wrong, but I felt them there, wetting my eyes as I watched my best friend move closer to me, offering, handing me everything I wanted. I saw a tear fall from her dark eyes, watched as a small, nervous smile touched her lips before she delicately wiped the tear away, swallowing her nerves back down as she flicked her hair. "Okay, so…" I didn't want to ruin it, but I had to know. I couldn't make a decision before I knew. I got up from my chair and moved down to meet her, hoping she'd see that I had loved it even as I steered the conversation in a direction she probably didn't want to go in. "Why couldn't you sing that to me in front of everyone? Now that Artie and I aren't together?"

"No, not... not yet." She looked away from me and carefully removed another tear, obviously trying not to smear her makeup. I felt a pinch of disappointment, but I held my ground, willing to let her explain. I'd given her lots of time. I could give her more. I just… wasn't sure how much longer we could go on like this. "I'm not ready for that type of… public _announcement." _The way she said it, her back turning to me as she moved away again, had me sighing quietly to myself. "Ever since that Muckraker thing, people have already started treating me differently…" She looked back to me and must have realized that I was upset because she tacked on a bit desperately, "I got asked to join the golf team." As if that alone explained why she couldn't just ask me out and forget about what people thought. I realized that Santana was never going to come out without help, was never going to escape the witch in Narnia without someone showing her how. And an idea struck me.

"Well, what if I went first?" She looked confused, terrified that I was pushing this. I felt bad, but I had been waiting _so long _for this. I couldn't just let it go. I couldn't. I just wanted so badly to hold her hand in the hallway. Was that so bad? Really, I was pushing too hard. I didn't realize it then – or maybe I did but I pretended not to – but doing what I did in that moment would alter everything between us. Even now, I don't know if it was a good choice or a bad choice. I don't know if it was the push Santana needed or if it made everything we went through after that so much harder. Would we have somehow found happiness faster if I hadn't forced her to agree to coming on Fondue for Two? I guess I'll never really know that answer. "… all you have to do is say yes." She was staring at the ground, but as soon as I offered that, made it a simple answer to a difficult question, she bobbed her head rapidly and agreed. A huge smile overtook my face and we both stepped forward into one another, the hug we exchanged tight and desperate. There was a small sliver of doubt still, though. I was worried because I knew it wasn't as easy as I made it out to be. Between now and the filming of Fondue for Two, Santana would have a lot of thinking time. And if she thought too much, she'd end up disappointing both of us again.

She pulled away when the bell rang, again ran a finger under her eyes to make sure no stray tears lingered before she offered me a weak smile. "Just yes," she whispered, as if to make sure she did, in fact, have her line down. I nodded quickly, trying to reassure, trying to make sure she understood it could be just that simple. Again she smiled, even smaller than the last. "Okay, B. Okay. See you then." And then she was moving around me out the door and I was turning with her to watch her leave. Brad was once again staring at me and with Santana out of sight, I stared back.

"You don't look like furniture," I said honestly. "You look like a person. You aren't a robot, are you?" He lifted a brow and said nothing. "I don't think you are. Robots don't have hearts so they can't play beautiful music, but you can… Did Santana work on that with you for a long time?" He nodded slowly, watching me as if trying to figure me out. I bit my lip, a hand lifting to toy with my necklace. "It was pretty… She talks to you a lot, doesn't she?" Again he shrugged, which I took as a yes anyway because I know Santana secretly liked the piano guy even if he never said a word. "I'm glad that someone listens. Anyway, I have to go to class. Thanks, Brad." I smiled brightly and headed for the door too, already a bit late for my next class.

I thought I heard him say, "She's trying, blondie," but when I looked back, he was carefully organizing his sheet music back into his folder and I thought maybe I'd imagined it.

I kind of forgot that other people in glee club were having problems, too. It wasn't that I didn't care. It was just that I was so stuck in everything with me and Santana that I didn't pay that much attention to them. Not until it all blew up in this huge argument in the choir room and I looked to Santana, only for her eyes to avoid mine. That worried me. We were supposed to film Fondue for Two and she hadn't spoken to me since leaving the choir room two days before and… Well, I didn't know what to think. Everything in my little glee family was so confusing and I just wanted to make it all better. So a few minutes after Quinn left, I quietly excused myself and went after her. It only took me a couple more minutes to find her sitting on the stage, her legs dangling over the edge as she looked out over the dark seats. "Wow, someone actually followed me," she commented quietly, though she didn't look over at me. "I didn't realize people knew I still existed in this club." Slowly I sat down beside her, watching her uncomfortably as I did so.

"Of course people know you still exist, Q," I said in response. I reached out and tucked her hair back behind her ear, frowning at the tear I spotted on her lashes. "Honey, please don't cry. Seriously. Everyone's being a little silly right now, but we love you." She laughed, but I knew I hadn't said anything funny, so I didn't think she was really amused. I hadn't realized until then that the other blonde had some serious issues going on in her life. We hadn't talked for ages and hadn't been all that close for a lot longer and it was only in that moment that I saw I'd missed a lot.

"No one loves me," she replied.

"Sure they do. I do and San does and Finn-"

"Finn." She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "He doesn't love me, B. And honestly…" She sighed and lifted a shoulder before pulling her knees into her chest. "I don't really love him, either. I just… I want someone. I want to be loved. I want to be _in _love." It was really sad to hear that, to know she believed it. My arm wrapped around her shoulders and I hugged her close, holding on until she relaxed and her head dropped onto my shoulder.

"You and San are a lot alike sometimes," I said after a minute. I heard her release another quiet scoff, but I shook my head before she could say anything. "No, really, you are. You both just… You want that love so much, but you're… scared. Scared to take it, scared to feel it." I frowned, my own eyes focused on the rows of empty seating. "People love you, Quinn. You just can't see it."

"No one loves me like you love Santana," she whispered. I only smiled.

"No one loves anyone like I love Santana," I replied. "And I'm still trying to convince her, so."

We sat quietly for a long time. I knew it was time for me to go because I was filming Fondue for Two tonight and I needed to go and get ready. I didn't want to leave Quinn, though, so I asked her to come along. She did, and she sat on the lid of the toilet and watched as I did my hair and redid my makeup, then on the edge of my bed as I went through my clothes to pick out a new outfit. I my third shirt halfway over my head when my phone went off and I called out for Quinn to read the text. I figured it was just Santana letting me know she was almost here. "Britt." I looked up, found those hazel eyes watching me with a sad, knowing look in them. She held out the phone and I slowly crossed to her, reading the message on the display.

_I can't. _

I was frozen for a good minute, reading it over and over again. Quickly I texted her back, needing to know why, needing to somehow change her mind. _Why? San, come on. You're so brave. I know you can do it. I'll be right there with you. _I waited. I waited for a full hour, right up until I had to film, but she never answered. The show went on, but I couldn't help but think about those two words that had suddenly changed everything. After, when the dam broke and I finally cried, Quinn hugged me close and sighed. "Just remember she loves you, B," she whispered. "Remember what you said. She's scared. Give her time."

But all I could think was, how much longer could I wait? How much longer would she _make_ me wait? A month? A year? Forever?

I was angry. I was so angry, and so sad, and just… I didn't even know what to think anymore. I didn't speak to her the entire next day and she didn't try to talk to me, either. Or the day after, or the day after that. Meanwhile, rumors spread about her and Karofsky having sex and I knew it wasn't true because they were both gay, but she seemed pleased that those rumors were catching on. On day four, I stood by my locker as those rumors swirled around me, absently doodling in my little journalism notebook. I saw Santana when she and that creepy kid with the Jewish cloud on his head came down the hall and my eyes immediately fell on them. I didn't bother trying to hide the fact I was listening. I wanted Santana to know, wanted her to see. Wanted her to tell Jewish kid that, no, those rumors weren't true because she had been, in fact, sleeping with me. Our eyes met over his shoulder and I watched her, pleading, desperate for her confession.

"So you two are in love? Soul mates, so to speak?" Jewfro asked, and immediately those eyes locked with mine.

"Yeah. I'd say that was accurate." But I could see that she wasn't speaking to him. Rather, her eyes were locked on mine as she finished her statement and then turned swiftly away. I knew she meant those words for me, knew she wasn't talking about her and capital G gay David Karofsky, but rather, she meant me. That we were soul mates. It didn't do much to comfort me because by now I'd learned the rules. We weren't dating. Even soul mates weren't necessarily going to end up together.

I remember when we were fifteen, we lay in my back yard with the last bits of cherry popsicles in our mouths, soaking up the last rays of summer sun before school started. My fingers were sticky and I was absently sticking them together and pulling them apart when I asked quietly, "Do you believe in soul mates?"

She looked sharply over at me, studying me closely for signs I meant this in a way directed at her. We'd been making out for like six months at this point and I knew she was worried about me getting actual feelings for her or something – at least that's what I assumed at the time – and so whenever I asked questions like these she got really uptight. "No," she said at last, head shaking. Seeing that I looked nothing more than curious, she relaxed back against the grass and studied the clouds again. "I think having a soul mate is kind of lazy, you know? I mean, if you think destiny ties you to this one person and that fate means you'll be brought together when the time is right… Like, where's the challenge in that, right? That's lazy." I shook my head and smiled. Of course my best friend, forever the exercise freak, would consider something like that lazy.

"I don't think it's like that really, San. I mean, why if you find your soul mate and you know you're supposed to be together forever, but everything's really hard and wants to get in your way?" I rolled over on my stomach, my expression serious as it really rarely was. "Like Romeo and Juliet. I mean, their stars were crossed, they were meant to be together, but everything was really hard for them. Maybe… Maybe you can't know your soul mate is your soul mate until you beat everything that's hard." Santana stared back at me, her dark eyes unreadable as they studied my face.

"And then maybe, even if you find them, you can't end up being with them." She spoke quietly, sadly, looking away from me again. "Like Romeo and Juliet. They both died." I nodded slowly and then frowned, reaching out to wrap my sticky pinky around hers.

"They were brave," I replied. "Dying for love. I bet Heaven let them be together later, because they beat their obstacles. I think best friend soul mates are easier. Like us!"

Again she looked back at me, her eyes dark and solemn. And then she was smiling, giggling softly to herself. "You have popsicle on your mouth," she said, wiping away a red spot with her thumb. And then she leaned in and kissed me and she tasted like cherry and sweat and summer and Santana and I forgot about soul mates and crossing stars and just remembered her.


	12. Promises

**This took forever. School started and blah blah, excuses excuses. Trying to balance real life and creativity is like. Impossible. Hence this taking forever. But here you are. (:**

It used to be that all of those major moments happened so far away from each other that it was easy to find just one a year to think about. When we were young, things were a lot simpler. I guess there's just something about high school that makes everything slow down, or just makes everything more important. Maybe it's because that's when the hormones of middle school turn into actual emotions that have the ability to be something more. Or maybe it's because that's when people start to realize that they have to have a life outside of school soon. What they are in high school doesn't really matter. What they'll have after it does. So that's why junior year was such a year of milestones for us. That's why it takes most of my time to explain- because important memories aren't always big events. Sometimes it's a lot of little moments that add up to a big picture. Small memories are mostly triggered by a smell or a taste or a word that somehow set off something in our subconscious mind...

My small moments are almost always triggered, no matter what they're about, by Santana.

People will tell you that prom is supposed to be a big deal and that if you don't have a date, you're super lame. Well, that's just not true. It wasn't for me or a lot of my friends. I had fun, but it wasn't really much different from any party I'd been to, except at least at actual parties I could make out with Santana and blame alcohol. I was still deeply disappointed with the way my prom plans had gone- first Santana ditching me and then Artie asking me to go with him. I didn't like that he thought I would just forgive and forget what he'd said so I could have a date. Forgiving was easy because I was bad at holding grudges, but forgetting was something I wasn't willing to do. Besides, even though his song was really nice, it was a song my daddy used to sing to me and I thought it was weird he was asking to date me with it. It made me wonder if he thought I was so stupid that I wouldn't know what it was about, which only confirmed for me that I'd made the right decision in breaking up with him.

Anyway, so I attended the prom dateless, and really, I did have a good time. I danced with everyone's dates, including this girl named Callie who was really nice and pretty hot, but not really my type. I guess it didn't help that I couldn't help but stare at Santana for a good portion of the time even as I tried to have a good time with everyone else. It wasn't that I was jealous, because I wasn't. I knew about David, after all, and I knew about Santana, and I never really got very jealous anyway. No, I stared because she was laughing and looking happy, despite the fact she and Dave were dancing ridiculously- or maybe because they were. I stared because, when the slow songs started, they would come together and I felt this overwhelming sadness at the way they didn't make eye contact. I wanted to hug them both and tell them not to be scared anymore, because could they really be happier like this than showing everyone who they were? And most of all, I stared because my beautiful Santana looked so great in her dress and I couldn't help but think that if she'd come with me, we'd have been red and green together and those were Christmas colors, which meant that Santana and I together would be magic.

I hadn't stayed mad after the whole soul mate thing. It was hard to be mad at her, hard to not understand. Besides, like I said before, grudge holding has never been my thing- especially with Santana. I never forgot, but I always forgave and I always tried to move past it. She was the one I gave the most chances to because I knew I loved her and because even if I hadn't wanted to be with her, she was my very best friend and very best friends get as many chances as they need. Plus, for all the times she made me sad or angry, there were a thousand more where she made me feel like the most amazing person in the entire world, and those were worth a million sad moments each. Santana spent a lot of our life sticking up for me and protecting me from everyone and everything she thought could hurt me. A lot of people saw that. But what a lot of people didn't see was that I kept her safe, too, in the best way I knew how. When she was sad, I protected her little smiles and made them bigger until she was laughing again. When she was hurt, I protected her badassness by getting her away somewhere she could yell and cry where no one could see her vulnerable before wrapping around her and telling her it would be okay. And when she was scared… When she was scared, I protected her by giving her more time and more chances.

So I wasn't mad at her anymore, but I was still sad, and knowing she thought she had to be with Dave instead of being with me like I knew she wanted made me even sadder. A few times she would stop and search the crowd and every time she did this, our eyes would meet and I could hear so many words flying between us even with eight bajillion people crowded in the gym. I would smile and tilt my head, always a question of whether she was going to join me then or not. She would always frown and sigh and then look back to Dave and smile like she didn't have a care in the world. And I would just find someone else to dance with because I didn't know what else to do. Santana was the most beautiful girl in the whole world and I knew she would be the most beautiful, perfect woman ever. But she was still a girl and really, so was I, and we both had some growing up to do. Santana just had a different sort of growing she needed to go through so that we could be an 'us' instead of a 'her' and a 'me'.

When she lost prom queen, I had to comfort her. She practically ran from the room and I followed quickly, calling out to her. I needed her to stop, to talk to me, to hear what I said. I knew she was running from more than just her loss- she was running from Kurt's win. Here was her proof that people hated people like us and people like Kurt. Here were the students of McKinley proving her every assumption correct. She needed to support him and to see it wasn't everyone. She needed to be there to see how it ended, good or bad, because she would need that closure.

"Santana, wait."

"Go _away, _Brittany!" she snapped, but I only kept following. "Why don't you just go back to your date and leave me alone?"

"I don't have a date," I replied, confused. She whirled on me, stared hard with anger and hurt and fear in her eyes.

"Then who's that girl you were dancing with?"

"Just some girl. Santana, please…"

"Whatever." And then she spun away from me again, heading into the choir room. She went there without even thinking about it, I realized. The place that was her safe haven, the place where she felt the most accepted. The choir room was, I thought, more of a home to her than her own house.

She was upset and I didn't blame her, but I did know that she would have won if she wasn't lying about who she was. She told me once that she was a bitch because she was angry about all the feelings she had to keep a secret from everyone. I'm pretty sure a lot of people didn't vote for her because she was mean to them. So if she was happy and if she let herself _have _her feelings… maybe then people would have seen how awesome she was. Maybe then they could have seen the Santana I saw. There was a lot more to her than people saw, but of course, they couldn't see that because she kept it all hidden. To be fair, she had her reasons for it, but I thought maybe she'd be safer coming out than she thought. I wanted her to be happy. And more, I wanted her to be _free._

In the end, I must have said something right. Part of that I-protect-Santana-more-than-anyone-realizes thing. So we went back to the gym and she sang Dancing Queen and that meant she got to see that Kurt was brave and went back, too. I grinned the entire time she sang, watching her as she had a great time. One look around and I saw Artie by himself. Feeling bad, I motioned him over and we danced together and got our picture taken. We were friends and I didn't want to lose that. I could never date him again, but I think we had always been better as friends anyway and I danced with my friends all the time. As we left the photo area, I looked automatically for my best friend- and found her staring back at me with an expression on her face even I couldn't read. Moments later and she was gone, all the people making it impossible for me to catch her. By the time I was out the door, Santana was gone.

I went home alone that night, as I had every night for a while. Santana hadn't been to my house since before ditching Fondue for Two and I hadn't been to her place, either. I still can't explain what it felt like to be whole and complete one day, to know what it's like to have someone sleeping next to you who completes you, and then the next day you aren't even talking to her. The closest thing I can think of is like being ripped in half… Well, I guess people don't really know what being ripped in half feels like. Being without Santana again was like… losing a leg. It's something vital, something that's a part of you, and to have it taken away so suddenly is painful. You feel it there after it's gone, the phantom ghost of it, but you can't physically touch it. You can't use it to walk. Worse, you can't use it to dance. People who lose legs… I hear that they like. Get itches on it that they can't scratch because they don't actually have it anymore. When Santana was gone, I felt the need to hold her or kiss her or touch her and I'd reach out in the middle of the night, but her side would be cold and I would be alone. No way to complete that absolute need, no way to feel soft skin or gentle lips or warm breaths. No way to hear loving words or give them in return. It itched. It hurt. And I really didn't like it.

So when I woke up in the middle of the night that night and I felt complete, I knew she was there. "Santana?" I whispered groggily, and I rolled over to find her lying on her side, her chin propped in her hand as she leaned on her elbow and looked down at me. She had changed into a t-shirt and her hair was loose, black curls falling around her shoulders as she stared into my tired eyes. I was still half asleep and I think part of me thought I was dreaming because I smiled and reached out like she'd never left, fingers wrapping around her wrist. Beneath my gentle grip, her pulse thrummed warm and fast, proving that she was real and alive and right _there, _not in my imagination. "What're you doing here?"

"We promised, remember?" she murmured in return, tan fingers reaching out to play with one of my own loose curls. "That we'd have after-prom together, no matter what. We pinky promised." She wrapped and unwrapped the curl around her index finger, dark eyes following the motion as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"We were like twelve," I replied, delighted and baffled by the fact she had remembered that. My hand was still around her wrist and I let my fingertips trail down, tracing the darker skin I knew so well until my hand curved over the crook of her elbow. So familiar, so missed. I think we both shuddered then at the feeling, though I guess it could have just been me. She looked up briefly and I saw something in her eyes that had me squeezing her arm to make sure she knew I wasn't upset she was there, even if it was sudden. "I'm happy you remembered. I really missed you tonight, Santana."

"I missed you, too." She laid down then, her smaller body curving into my own. I felt a lean thigh slip between mine as she tangled our legs together beneath my quilt, her arm sliding then across my waist to hold me closer. "Britt…. Are you with Artie again?" The question is quiet, mumbled almost fearfully into my collar. I could hear it, and for once she let me without trying to cover up how she felt. So my fingers stroked gently through her hair and I smiled, lips pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

"No, I'm not. We're just friends. Like, actually just friends." As opposed to the type of "just friends" Santana and I had been for so long. She seemed to get the hidden words there because she nodded and kept silent, just breathing into my neck. The feeling was so familiar that I remember drifting, willing to fall asleep right there because I had my leg back and I could actually scratch it and okay, that metaphor sounded a lot better before. It had been so long since we'd been able to do this but it felt like we'd never stopped and I just wanted to fall asleep and wake up and have every moment in between feel like this because it was how our life was supposed to be. Together, a unit, with hearts that didn't necessarily beat the same because that was boring- but with hearts that harmonized. It was a bad idea to let it get any further, but when her lips pressed to my throat, I could feel them trembling. So I didn't move. Life is made up of choices, and I had chosen Santana when I was four. No matter what happened in between, I would never regret that choice, and I would pick it again and again for as long as I was able.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered as her face lifted to hover over mine. Tears wet her dark lashes, bare of makeup and extensions for once, shivered on the ends of them before dripping down the curve of her cheek. Santana cried often. The thing was, her tears weren't usually that serious. When they were private like this, though, they were big. So I could only swipe them away with my thumbs and lift my head, lips feathering over hers as I shushed her. "Britt-" But I shook my head and guided her mouth down to mine. The kiss was gentle, a homecoming. We both sighed into it and settled against one another. I think it was as much a relief for her as it was for me and we let it drag on and on with no other parts of us moving. It wasn't about sex. We didn't even have sex that night. Instead, we dragged out the soft kisses and gentle caresses until we were too exhausted to stay awake. And even then she remained curled around me, a knot of soft-skinned limbs and tangled curls and matching smiles that slept so contentedly together. Completed. Whole. Safe.

None of our problems had been solved and our relationship status still wasn't clear to me, but for that night, we had each other again. And it was enough. "I love you, Santana," I whispered into her skin as we drifted. She didn't say anything, but I think I felt her tighten her grip just a bit more.

And it was enough.

… **meh. So, I only got through one episode. Whoops? And it's not the best of my chapters, but meh. The thing is, we're coming to the end here. The last couple episodes remain and then this will be over, followed by one or two chapters beyond. I won't be covering season three in this story because I set out with a purpose here, and that was to tell the untold Brittana story of season two. So far in three they're doing a pretty damned good job of Brittana, and there will definitely be a lot of one-shots that I post here and on my tumblr for you to check out. (: What was my point… OH! We're coming to the end, so the last few chapters will probably focus on one episode per, with the usual flashbacks and original scenes tossed in. Sooo… yeah. **


	13. Tethers

**Creys everywhere. I hate rewatching this episode. Enjoy.**

When we were twelve, my family went on a vacation to Disney World. It was my first time ever going out of Ohio, and to make it even better, we were going to see all of my favorite characters. I was so excited. I babbled on and on to Santana about it and she smiled and nodded and told me these awesome stories about all the stuff I would see there. She had never been and I would learn later she'd looked up the best places to visit online so that she could give me a good idea of where to go and what to do so I could make the most of the parks. Me? I didn't even register that Santana wouldn't be there. Not until we were piled in the car on the way to the airport and passed the turn that would take us to her house. "Wait, daddy," I said with some surprise. He'd driven there a hundred million times before and I didn't understand why he'd missed it on this important day. Maybe I wasn't always the best with directions, but I knew the way to my best friend's house. "Santana's street is that way, silly. We need to pick her up." My parents exchanged looks and then my mother turned in her seat a bit to face back towards me.

"Honey… Santana isn't coming with us. This is a family vacation."

"But… But she is family," I remember saying, utterly confused. I couldn't understand how they hadn't realized this. Santana practically lived at our house. She ate our food and slept over and visited Nana with us... So why wasn't she going to Disney World?

"No, Brittany. Santana is a Lopez, not a Pierce. As much as I love her – as much as we all love her – she needs to stay home with her family and you need to go on vacation with yours. It's only for a week, honey, okay? And right when we get home, we'll take you over to see her." She smiled like it was all better and turned around, but I was still shocked. Obviously, I thought, my mommy didn't know Santana like I did. She didn't know that if Santana wasn't with us, the only person she'd be spending quality time with was her nanny. She obviously didn't love her like I did or she wouldn't say that Santana couldn't come.

"She's _my _family," I whispered brokenly, and then I started crying. I cried all the way to the airport. My little sister, only three at the time, was so unused to my tears that she began to cry as well. My parents weren't quite sure what to do with my tears because I so rarely cried. It wasn't like they could just go and pick up Santana and make it better. I didn't understand that then, of course, but Disney was expensive and everything was already booked for a family of four. Sophie was easy enough to console. As soon as we were past the security gates, my mom took her to go watch the planes take off. I sat by my father and continued to cry until at last he handed me his cell phone.

"Why don't you call Santana and say goodbye, princess," he murmured. His hand brushed down my hair and, sniffling, I did so. It only rang twice before I heard her annoyed, bored voice on the other end of the line. "S-Santana," I choked out and she said hi, her voice brighter. She asked why I was crying and I said it was because I didn't know she wasn't coming.

"Britt, don't worry," she said. "Take lots of pictures for me on the throw-away camera I gave you and get me a mega cool gift and I'll see you when you get back. I'm gonna be mad at you if you don't have fun, okay?" She paused. "You're wearing your bracelet, right?" My fingers touched the charm bracelet around my wrist. Santana had the matching one and she said that as long as we both wore it, we'd be connected. _I'll wear it forever, then, _I'd said and she'd grinned and rolled her eyes before agreeing that she would, too. "Have fun, Brittbritt. Seriously. And when you get home, make sure you bring me my present first thing."

"Kay… Love you, San."

"Yeah. Bye, Britt."

I did what she said, but when I got to her house and held out her gift, she ignored it and wrapped around me in the tightest hug ever and it felt like she'd never let me go again. And I was okay with that.

Being friends with her again after prom was kind of like coming home from vacation again. It was all very careful and slow, like we were afraid of breaking it. Sometimes we even went hours apart and that had never been a thing with us before, except when we were mad or hurt. At night, though, she would always crawl through my window and wrap around me like she did in that back-from-Disney-World hug. We didn't have sex either, which was weird and new and somewhat nice. Not that I didn't like having sex with her, because I did, but all of this just holding each other was nice, too. It made us feel like friends again. It made us feel like more.

Plus, there was a lot of glee stuff to focus on, especially with Nationals coming up, and Santana was starting to get a bit stressed. I knew that she loved it and that she wanted to prove herself to the New Directions members in a way that would make her feel like they cared. So it was a big deal when that Jesse kid showed up and suddenly there were auditions for the lead singer and suddenly there was a chance for her. Not that I thought it was going to be fair since it was obvious that the kid I thought looked like he should be Mr. Schue's son already had Rachel as his favorite, but it was a chance. And Santana had a good chance. Her voice was… I don't know. Rachel's was nice. Even Santana admitted it when no one else was around. She said it was more suited to Broadway shows, so anything Broadway would have to be hers. Unless the character was sexy, Santana would add with a smirk. Because if Finn was as sexy as a cabbage patch doll, Rachel was as sexy as those toy trolls with the crazy hair. Which, I thought those trolls were cute, but no, definitely not sexy. Quinn's voice was pretty, too. Santana called it an alto. I just thought it was pretty, but it wasn't a powerful voice and I didn't think it was that good for the big numbers we'd have to make to win. Maybe a ballad. Unless it was sexy. Mercedes had an awesome voice, but it wasn't made for quiet songs. Only the big, show-stopping numbers. Again, unless they were sexy. Santana's voice was perfect for all of that, especially if sexy was needed. It sounded… like smoke. It sounded like smoke in a dark bar, like whiskey, like rain. I don't know how to describe it, but it was perfect. I loved Santana's voice.

I was standing next to her when the signup sheet went up. "Sign it," I murmured, nudging her gently. She looked and me and smirked, shook her head. I knew, though. She couldn't hide from me. I knew she was scared and that she would claim she didn't want to because she didn't want attention drawn to her as head of the loser parade- or something like that. I didn't let her. Instead I gave her a shove towards it, stepping up behind her so that she couldn't turn and escape.

"Good initiative, Santana," Schuester said with a smile before he walked away and she stared after him. I did, too. A compliment from Schue? For Santana? It didn't happen a lot.

"I don't have a pen," she said quietly, even though she hadn't even looked for one. "I'll have to do it lat-"

"Here." I snagged the pen in my pocket and pressed it into her left hand. Briefly my hand lingered over hers and I gave her hand a squeeze. "You can do it, Santana. You're perfect. Go ahead." She was staring at me now, which was weird because I always gave her compliments so you think she'd be used to it by now. Then her face hardened into a look of determination and she turned and very carefully wrote out her name. The O became a little head and I grinned and bounced on my toes, tossing my arms around her. It made her 'e' look a little funny, but neither of us was bothered. It kind of looked like an infinity symbol.

No one was allowed in the auditorium during the auditions, but Santana and I had long ago learned how to get in without being noticed. I snuck backstage, stood in the shadows off to the side while her intro music started. Amy Winehouse, I knew. Santana loved her. I didn't really get it, but Santana said I wasn't allowed to insult her or she'd disown me. I was pretty sure she was joking, but I never tested that theory. Still, this was what I meant when I said that she had that sexy quality. I mean, she could do soft and sweet, too – Songbird proved that – and she could do powerhouse numbers like she did when we sang duets and she and Mercedes were awesome (though I don't like remembering that time), but these kinds of numbers? They were her best. I watched as her hands slid over the microphone stand, as she moved and flirted with the musicians and seduced anyone within a million foot radius. Except Jesse, but whatever. He was kind of mean anyways.

So when he told her she just didn't have it, neither of us expected it. I saw the anger flash, followed by the hurt. She was spewing out insults, but I knew she would break soon if she didn't get off the stage. I wanted to race on and gather her close and tell Jesse that maybe he'd gone deaf since he started failing college, but I couldn't. For a lot of reasons, but mostly because Santana would be more embarrassed than anything if I did that. So I waited for her to step off and loudly drop the microphone stand before I stepped forward. The tears had already started, frustrated tears of anger and hurt and dashed dreams. "Don't," she snapped at me before I could touch her. "Don't fucking coddle me. I need to punch something. Namely Jesse St. Douchebag's face. How can he… And why did Mr. Schue just…" Why did he just sit there, I finished for her. I didn't know. I was pretty sure teachers were supposed to defend their students, but whatever. Ignoring the order not to touch, I wrapped my arms around her and drew her close. She pressed her face into my shoulder and we stood like that, her hot, angry tears soaking my shirt.

"It's okay, Santana," I mumbled, stroking her hair. Mr. Schue thought you were good and he'll be the one to pick. You were so amazing. Jesse just wants to get in Rachel's ugly skirt, okay? Shh." I kissed her forehead and she shook her head, pulling away quickly. I reached up with the end of my shirt and wiped her face off until she looked like she wanted to look- unfazed, badass, like she didn't care even though she did. Santana smiled at me, just a little, kissed my lips, and left. I didn't follow her. I knew she needed the time away from me to close herself up like she needed to. I felt so bad. This audition had been my idea and it was so unfair that she probably wouldn't even get the chance. I knew exactly what she'd do now. She'd go to the choir room with the other people auditioning, sit in the back row, cross her legs and fold her arms, and brag about how she was going to win. While inside she was already dead to the whole stupid audition. Closing up was how she dealt with losing the things she wanted most.

That was, after all, what she'd done with me.

I guess it's always a good thing to gain some perspective on life. On death. It forces you to see what's really important and what things are so little and forgivable that it seems silly to always keep thinking and thinking about them. Jean's funeral did that for all of us that year. It was right in the middle of the audition stuff and the idea of going to a funeral kind of scared me. I'd never been to one before and I was worried we'd have to see Jean in her coffin, but Kurt assured me that it wouldn't be that kind of thing.

I remembered that Santana had gone to a funeral once for her gramma- her _abuela_, she'd called her. We'd been little then and Santana had to go with her father. It was one of very few times that Santana did something with her father and when she'd come back, she'd said it was creepy and her _abuela_ had looked like she was just asleep. She woke me up in the middle of the night that night crying and when I'd asked, she'd babbled something about having a nightmare where I'd been the one lying in the coffin and then she'd woken up and I'd obviously been asleep and it just scared her. We were only eight and I guess that's when she started sleeping wrapped around me. To make sure my heart was still beating.

Anyways, her funeral was pretty. I thought it was nice that we'd decorated it like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Even though that movie was kind of creepy, Jean's funeral looked like my favorite room in the whole thing so it was okay. Santana didn't sit next to me. I think it would make that old nightmare too real for her and I think part of it was that Santana still cared a lot about Coach Sylvester. She wanted to sit behind her during the funeral even though there was no way that woman would reach out to her for comfort and Santana wouldn't know how to give her any. As it started, though, I really wished she was next to me to hold my hand. It was hard, seeing a woman I'd always thought of as rock solid crumbling under the weight of her only loved one's death. If there was one person in the world that kept Coach human, it was Jean. And I was sad for her. I'd never liked her, but I was so sad for her.

A lot of what people say to us we forget over the years and years in between them saying it and remembering that moment. I can't even recall what exactly I said to my mother the night before most times. But I remember every word of Coach Sylvester's speech for her sister. Every line, every syllable, every indrawn breath she took when she was trying not to cry. As I sat and listened, I thought of Santana and I could truly feel coach's pain in my own heart.

"I miss my sister. Every night at ten or so, she used to call me on the phone… And when I asked her why, she told me that her body told her she wanted to hear my voice."

"_Hey,San!"_

"_Britt, it's midnight. Shouldn't you be asleep?"_

"_I was, but then I woke up and I wanted to hear your voice."_

_A soft laugh. "Well, you heard it. Go to sleep."_

I glanced across at Santana as Mr. Schue went to help Coach, my blue eyes staring at her across the aisle as I struggled to contain the hurt in my chest. My heart felt heavy. I saw the pain briefly reflected on Santana's face before she hid it again, her eyes never once looking at me.

"I miss my sister. The smell of her shampoo. The way she could always convince me to read her another book."

"_Please, San, can we start Goblet of Fire? I want to know what happens next."_

"_Okay, okay. One chapter and then we're going to sleep… What are you doing?"_

"_Nothing." My face pressed into her hair and I smiled. Coconut shampoo with a hint of strawberry from her conditioner since she could never choose which she liked best. _

"When you love someone like I loved her, they're a part of you. It's like you're attached by this invisible tether and no matter how far away you are…" I sniffed a little, hugged my arms around my waist as I looked towards Santana again. She was staring straight ahead, never wavering, her dark eyes locked on Coach Sylvester. She fought the pain and fear so bravely, I thought. It was painful in itself to watch. But I couldn't look away. "You can always feel them."

"_How's Disney?"_

"_So much fun! I miss you though, San."_

"_I'll see you soon, Brittbritt." And I could feel her smile through the phone line._

"And now every time I reach for that tether, I know there's no one on the other end, and I feel like I'm falling into nothingness." My heart lurched as I tried to imagine what it would be like to break from Santana so completely. It was an uncomfortable, painful experience and I choked a bit on a sob caught in my throat. No sound escaped, but Santana's eyes flickered briefly towards me and away again. As if she'd felt the pain on her end of our tether.

"Then I remember Jean. I remember a life led with no enemies, no resentments, no regrets, and I'm inspired to get up out of bed and go on."

"_Sometimes I wish I could be as tough as you."_

"_You mean bitchy."_

"_No. Brave. A little mean sometimes, when they deserve it."_

"_Don't ever wish that, Brittany. I like you the way you are. Sweet, warm, caring Brittany. The good one, the one who loves everyone." _

"I miss my sister so much." I felt her eyes then, staring at me the way I'd been staring at her before. I glanced briefly in her direction again and our eyes met, her brow creasing slightly. I attempted a small, reassuring smile and she closed her eyes, turning away from me again. I knew she felt it too. The pain, the fear. "It feels like a piece of me has been ripped off. Just one more time I want to hold her. Ten more seconds, is that too much to ask? For ten more seconds to hold her?" I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. We had to sing and I didn't want it to be so obvious how scared I was. But what if it was Santana? What if she wasn't connected to me anymore? Would I end up like Sue Sylvester? "But I can't, and I won't. Now the only thing keeping me from being swallowed whole by sadness is that Jean would kill me if I did."

It sounded like something Santana would do. I blinked, smiled faintly to myself before the expression faded.

"So for now, I'm just going to miss her. I love you, Jeanie. Rest in peace. "

Coach and Mr. Schue sat down and that was our cue. Shakily I stood and moved towards the front, eyes avoiding the casket. When I looked forward, there was Santana, her dark eyes meeting mine as she circled behind me and towards the middle to take her place. Her fingers lightly grazed my wrist as she passed and I sucked in a quiet breath, suddenly finding it harder not to cry. The song started and I looked toward her immediately, afraid that if I didn't find her with my eyes every few seconds, then she'd disappear. She never looked away from Coach Sylvester and I got this feeling that she was trying to wish her well without having to talk to her. When I wasn't looking at Santana, I was looking away from the casket and the other glee club members. I wanted to forget where I was and why I was singing this.

I decided I didn't like funerals very much.

After the service, I went and locked myself in a stall in the ladies' room, curling up on the toilet seat so my feet wouldn't show. It was empty, no long lines, probably because no one ever wanted to linger at a funeral. A sob burst out of me and I buried my face in my knees to muffle the sound. I hated crying more than anything and that was why I rarely did it. I preferred to be the one comforting, preferred to fix other peoples' tears instead of shedding my own. "Britt?" I heard her call my name and my head jerked up to stare at the door. "Britt, come here." I didn't need to be asked twice. I unlocked the door and hurried from the stall, wasted no time in falling into Santana's arms. She wrapped around me, held me close to her as I sobbed into her neck.

"D-don't leave me," I choked out and she tightened around me, stroked my hair away from my face and behind my ears. Her lips pressed gently to my forehead.

"I won't, B," she whispered.

"You-you're on th-the end of m-my tether, San. I n-need you, please don't le-eave." She shook her head and pressed me closer, lips gently tracing over my damp face.

"Shh," she whispered over and over, stroking my back, cradling me against her front like a sobbing child. "Shh." I don't know how long we stood like that, wrapped up in one another, but when I finally managed to collect myself and look up, Quinn stood by the doorway. She watched us with sad, damp eyes, fingers holding a wad of tissues no doubt from the main parlor.

"Here," she said, holding them out to me. Santana took them and I grabbed Quinn's hand before she could step back to pull her towards us. Santana didn't seem surprised to see her and I wondered if they'd come in together to look for me. That would explain the tissues. For a while, the three of us stood together in silence. I was still pressed as close as I possibly could be to Santana, one of my hands wrapped around her back while the other clutched the shorter blonde's. Santana was gently wiping the tears from my cheeks with a tissue, her eyes soft and shadowed with sadness. Her second hand reached out and held both mine and Quinn's. The moment was quiet, sad. But for once, that bond between us could be felt again. Then she was stepping back away from us, a small smile flickering across her lips. "I have to go. Finn's waiting for me in the parking lot."

"Sorry we kept you so long," I mumbled, but she only shrugged.

"I'll just tell him there was a long line for the bathroom or something," she replied, and then she was gone and I was turning into Santana again, heart hurting.

I wanted to explain my fear. I wanted to tell her that I felt her attached to me, heart and soul. That every time she exhaled, I inhaled as if I might catch the same air. That when her heart beat, mine echoed it, a perfect harmony. I wanted to tell her that I understood Coach Sylvester's speech and that I was afraid of our tether breaking, afraid of losing her, afraid she'd leave me alone and I would fall into that nothingness that coach had mentioned. I wanted to tell her that I thought it was probably dark down there and I'd always been afraid of the dark and I didn't want to go anywhere that she didn't light up with her presence.

But then I realized that as long as our hearts were still beating, the tether would forever be unbroken. And even then, I thought, maybe it only stretched from earth to Heaven until we met up and it could snap us back together again.


	14. Possibility

**Rated M fo' sho'. **

**So this is the last episode-chapter, as it's the season finale (woohoo) for season two. That means TID is coming to an end in the next chapter or two. I'll miss my baby, but it's time to get going on other things besides oneshots and this. Also, in case you didn't see, I started a new story called Second Chances. It is from Santana's POV and it is somewhat AU. Pretty different from this one, actually, but I'm hoping you'll love it as much as I love the concept in my head. (: It's my next multi-chapter fic attempt. Love to you all, beautiful readers!**

The plane ride to Nationals was long and really boring. Once I got over the fact we were flying to New York City in first class, sitting in one spot for hours lost its coolness factor. My one distraction came in the form of a really nervous Santana, who sat holding her arm rests the entire ride. It was the only sign of her fear because she didn't want anyone else to know how scared she was- after all, she'd never been on a plane before and the highest Santana cared to be without solid support attached to the ground beneath her was at the top of the pyramid. I wasn't like the other glee kids, though, and I could see through her mask easily. My hand reached out and took hers, squeezed it gently. "It'll be okay," I told her gently. Her worried eyes darted past me to the opposite row, but Quinn was dozing in her seat and didn't notice us. Everyone else's view of our hands was blocked by the oversized seats. She relaxed a bit, squeezed my hand softly.

"Totally," she replied. "We're just hanging in a metal box twenty thousand feet in the air, no need to worry, we'll just die if it falls, no big deal, whatever, right?" I stared at her, completely unused to her babbling nervousness. After a moment, I shoved up the arm rest between us and took our seat belts off, urging her closer to me. She complied, which was the true sign of how afraid she was. Her body curled into mine and I noticed she was shivering and everything in me went soft with sympathy.

"Why don't you sleep, okay? We'll be in New York soon, San, it's okay. Just close your eyes…." She obeyed immediately, sucked in a deep breath before releasing it slowly again. Her weight slumped further against mine as time passed and I could tell by her breathing that she'd drifted off, one arm slung around my stomach and the other still tangled with mine. I smiled down at her, the girl I loved more than anything, and hoped she would stay asleep until we landed. It would make it easier for her. "I'll keep you safe, San," I murmured softly, my free hand lifting to carefully tuck a strand of loose black hair back behind her ear. She stirred against me, her head turning to press into my chest as she mumbled and drifted deeper under. My lips touched the top of her head and I let my fingers stay on her cheek, stroked gently, traced the soft curve of it, let my fingers run further down to the line of her neck. So beautiful, I remember thinking.

My beautiful Santana.

When I looked up from her slumbering face, it was to find Quinn watching us from across the aisle. I looked back at her silently, my eyebrows scrunching together as I tried to decide whether or not to be worried. My friendship with Quinn was always weird because I was never quite sure if I was supposed to trust her or not. I knew she cared – I saw it, I felt it – but that didn't mean she wouldn't turn around and say something. She'd been acting really weird ever since Finn broke up with her and I was worried she was looking for something to latch onto, to lash out against. But then she smiled across at us and I knew it wasn't us. Maybe the three of us weren't all on the same level, but Quinn had always known about us and she'd never used it against us and I knew we were her best friends. Besides, hadn't she said that one time that she'd be happy for me? For us? "You look happy," she said, and even if she sounded a little sad, she sounded pleased, too.

"It's not perfect," I replied, because it wasn't and because I thought maybe Quinn needed to know she wasn't alone in being afraid, in wanting what she didn't or couldn't have. But she only shook her head and sighed a bit to herself, eyes focused then on the back of the seat in front of her.

"Yes it is," she said in return, and I didn't know what to say to that. Quinn was never as easy to understand.

Santana slept until the plane touched down, nearly breaking my fingers when the jolt shot her awake. Panicked eyes swept the cabin only to realize I was buckled in again and holding her tight so that she wouldn't go flying forward with the landing. As soon as her sleepy mind registered we were on the ground, she completely relaxed, pulling away from me again. "Thank the little baby Jesus," she muttered to herself as she scooted back onto her seat and buckled her own seatbelt. I felt colder without her weight pressed into me, but because I could feel too sad, she reached across and squeezed my hand again. "Thanks, B." Her smile was slight, but it was there, and it was real. One of her only-for-me smiles.

I was warm again.

New York itself was pretty cool. Everything was huge and bright and all of the people moved so fast and they were all so colorful. I thought how I would have been happy to just dance down the streets singing at the top of my lungs, but Santana was beside me and she was nervous again so I didn't. Instead, I stayed beside her. We weren't touching, but every once in a while our hands would brush and warmth would spark where our skin touched. We stayed like that for a while. But then as we were stopped at a crosswalk, I noticed her eyes locked forward and to the left and when I looked, there were these two women. One was talking on a cell phone and with her hand on the other woman's back. She looked like someone's boss or something because she wore this really nice blue suit. The other was in a long, flowery dress- I remembered thinking that it was something Quinn would wear and it was really pretty and I wondered if that was why Santana was staring. And then I saw how the one in the dress looked at the one with the cell phone, all smiley and gooey eyed, and I realized what Santana was seeing. The light changed and the woman on the phone hung up before taking the other's hand in her own. She smiled and apologized, bringing that hand to her lips for a quick kiss as the group of pedestrians – including all of New Directions – started crossing. The dress one laughed and, with the practiced move of someone who lived in the city, bent to kiss her girlfriend right on the lips.

No one even seemed to notice except for me and Santana, but as soon as their lips met, Santana walked faster so that she fell into step beside Sam instead of me. They had stopped being awkward exes, but they weren't exactly friendly either, so it was weird to me that she'd chosen to walk beside him instead. I knew I was pouting, but I wasn't quite able to wipe the expression away. At least, not until Quinn took my best friend's place and hooked her arm through mine. "We should grab lunch, Mr. Schue," she called out, and when the group cheered in agreement, we went to find food. Quinn smiled up at me and squeezed my arms. "So, Brittany. Want to be my lunch buddy?" I gave her a puzzled look, noticed from the corner of my eye how Santana's head whipped around to stare at us. I didn't want to shoot down Quinn when she needed a friend, though, so I nodded and smiled. Santana looked away.

We sat down on these really big steps. Quinn and I were the last two to get lunch, but when we settled down to eat, I looked around for Santana. She wasn't there. I frowned to myself, but Quinn soon drew me into conversation and I let her distract me. Santana was smart. No way had she got lost or anything like that. I even half-heartedly joined in Kurt's song when he started up, but my thoughts were on Santana. That's when I spotted her. She sat on the steps feet away from the rest of the group, fork idly picking at a salad. I didn't see more than a single bite make it to her mouth. Mercedes sat with her, chatting away even though I could tell from twenty feet away that my best friend wasn't listening to a word she said. I wondered if maybe she didn't want anyone to notice the way she wasn't eating. Before I could get up to go to her, though, Rachel came back and said something about cats and Quinn was shooting her down and I felt bad, but still wondered how someone who loved Broadway so much didn't know that it closed. Then I wondered why Quinn did.

"Alright, guys! It's time to check into our hotel! Finish up your lunches!" Mr. Schuester stood in front of us with a huge smile on his face and I wondered why he was so happy, seeing as we still didn't have songs and Nationals was like. Super soon. But I guess that was just Mr. Schue- always trying to keep our energy up. We stood and tossed out our trash before following to the hotel. It was huge and really nice, but I wasn't too worried about that. I was once again worried about Santana and the fact she hadn't eaten and I wanted to know why she hadn't stood beside me at all since we'd crossed the street. It wasn't like anyone had looked at those two women like they were gross. No one had looked at them at all, in fact.

I caught up with her inside the hotel lobby, caught her elbow and smiled warmly when she looked back at me. "Hey, you," I murmured and she managed a small smile. The fact she didn't shrug me off encouraged me and I stepped closer, walking with her further into the room. "What's wrong, Santana? You didn't eat anything at lunch."

"Leave it to you to notice," she returned, but there was no anger in her voice. She only sighed and leaned against this really tall table thing and I leaned against the other side, watching her quietly and waiting for an answer. I saw so many things on her face and I wanted to just pull her close and kiss her fears away, but I knew that sort of stuff was part of it so we couldn't just do that. "I'm nervous," she admitted. "About… everything. Being away from Lima for the first time, this stupid competition… you." Her dark eyes circled nervously around the room before returning to me. Her voice dropped and so did her gaze, fingers opening a small book of maps on the tabletop as if that was what we were looking at instead of each other. "You and me." I started to ask what she meant, but just then, Quinn joined us. She was mumbling complaints about Finn and Rachel and Santana silently slid the maps toward her. "Shut up, I can hear Berry's loud mouth heading in our direction. Mountain troll's with her." Quinn's mouth snapped shut and we all focused on looking casual as they passed. We didn't have to bother. They didn't even seem to notice. Quinn looked up at them with obvious disbelief layered with a lot of pain. I felt bad because I knew she wanted so badly to love Finn and the fact she didn't, and he didn't, bothered her. The fact she had been dumped for Rachel had to hurt as well.

"I need to go," she mumbled, and she was off again. Santana and I didn't bother to remind her that we were all in the same room so there was no where she needed to go that wasn't where we needed to go, too.

We all gathered in one of our two hotel rooms for a group meeting. Mr. Schuester handed out pads of paper and pens and told us to write songs while he ran out and I wondered again why we didn't already have something prepared, but I didn't ask just in case it was a stupid question. Maybe part of the rules was that we couldn't have our songs until the day before the competition or something. I didn't know. I glanced up at Santana, who sat on the couch behind me. She was glaring hard down at the pad of paper, obviously not writing a thing, her pen tapping in a fast beat against it. Her foot bounced slightly the more upset she got and I decided to write a song that would put a smile back on her face.

It was pretty obvious, I think, that it wasn't really about a cup. Metaphors are important, though. At least, that's what Rachel always said, and I figured I might as well go for it because no one would think I knew what it implied except Santana, and that's who I was aiming this at. I watched her laugh quietly to herself throughout the whole time, saw how at the end she tried to look as shocked as everyone else, but she kept grinning after so it was kind of a fail. Quinn spoke up then and when everyone's attention shifted to her, I grinned at Santana and offered a small wink. I'd managed to cheer her up a little. I could tell when she went out and sang and danced with everyone. I could tell later when we all got in a massive pillow fight and she laughed and jumped up and down on the bed. I could tell when she smiled warmly every time she looked at me. It felt warm and right and perfect and like we were almost where we needed to be.

It felt like love.

Later, when everything was calm again and people started drifting out of the room, Santana sat down at my side. I was lying across the bed, my body spread out like a starfish as I flexed my feet to keep them from knotting. "Hey, Britt?" she whispered, poking my palm lightly. My fingers curled automatically around hers and I smiled, glancing over at her. She was so pretty; her dark hair tumbled around her face, framing that same soft smile she'd worn all day. There was still a feather clinging to her hair from before and I reached up with my free hand, plucking it free. Neither of us was too worried about the action, as the room was practically empty. Rachel had gone out dressed all fancy and she wasn't fooling anyone- we knew she was going out with Finn. Lauren and Puck were down trying the bar again and Kurt and Mercedes were on the opposite end of the room playing some sort of game. Quinn had left shortly after Rachel and the other boys were in their own room, where I think Tina had escaped to in order to be with Mike. Smiling up at her, I made some humming sound to get her to continue, too sleepy to bother with actual words. "You want to go outside with me? I need a smoke."

I frowned a little because I thought she'd quit, but I didn't want to miss the chance to be alone with her in the city for a little while, so I only nodded and slipped out of bed. We found our shoes and walked out to the elevator in silence. We rode all the way down and made it through the doors, in fact, before I broke it. "I thought you quit."

"I did." She shrugged, and I realized then that she wasn't reaching for a cigar or anything. Instead, her hand drifted out and caught mine, pulled it a little so that I stepped closer. Our fingers – all of them – linked and we started walking just like that. I remember my mind being completely blank before it started going a million miles an hour, faster than it ever moved. I remember the feel of my heart pounding and the way her hand squeezed mine tightly, as if all of her fear was suddenly centered where our palms and fingers meshed together. "I just… wanted to walk, I guess," she whispered, swallowing hard. It was a test, I realized as we wandered down the street and around the corner. She was testing herself, letting herself feel what it was like to do this where people could see. No one paid attention, though. I wondered if her unwritten rule was to let go or turn around the instant someone looked at them weird, but no one did. We got all the way back to the big fountain before we stopped again and she stepped up onto it, walking along the edge with my hand still caught in hers. At one point, she pulled me up with her and it was like there was magic in the air or something because she slid into my arms and wrapped her own around my waist. "Dance with me," she requested, still whispering, and I obeyed because I was so lost in her eyes.

I dropped my forehead against hers and stared and stared, fingers running in small lines over her back as I matched our pace to the rhythm of our hearts. She smiled at me, and even though it was a hesitant smile, it was real and warm and so sweet that it almost hurt. "This is nice." My voice was so, so quiet. I remember being afraid of breaking whatever spell we were under, like my voice would reverse it and everything would be how it was before. But instead she only laughed and shook her head slightly, her body pressing closer.

"Dancing in the dark is easy," she replied, a bit sadly. "We'll see if I can manage this during the day when people at school can see. Then you can call it nice."

"It is nice, San. I mean, yeah, I wish other people could see how nice it was, too…" My fingers ran gently down her hair, cradled the back of her head as she dropped it against my shoulder with her warm breath feathering against my neck. "But I like having stuff just between you and me sometimes, too. Like this. Just you and me, dancing to our song in the dark." It was a bit of a strange thing to say and I expected her to ask what song I meant because there was no music playing.

But then her head turned and her lips pressed to my heart and I realized that she could hear it, too.

I woke up in the middle of the night that night curled up on Santana's back (we'd taken the couch since Mercedes and Tina had one bed, Rachel and Kurt had the other, Lauren took up the cot by herself, and Quinn curled up on the chair), my eyes blinking against the dim light coming from the small flashlight I noticed Santana held. She was scribbling words onto her notebook, but the only thing my blurry eyes took in was the phrase "light up the world" at the top before I buried my face against her shoulder blade and drifted off again.

We didn't wake up until well after everyone else had left the room, so it was just me and Santana and Quinn as we stretched our sore bodies and started getting ready. Quinn took the bathroom first while we dressed, I think to give us privacy so we could stop pretending not to look at each other, but she was taking a long time. I wondered if she thought there was more going on out here than there was and she was waiting for the all clear or something. Finally Santana rolled her eyes. "Come on," she muttered, and we got up and moved to the bathroom so that she could bang on the door.

Quinn came out then and I realized she must have thought too much while she was in the bathroom because she seemed upset. She said something about telling on Kurt and Rachel and my heart slammed in my chest. She couldn't. "You can't do that. Then he'll have to suspend them." I looked nervously towards Santana. If they were suspended, then-

"Then there goes our chances at Nationals," Quinn said. "Darn." Even I could tell she was being sarcastic, and I wasn't the best with sarcasm.

"You know what?" I looked at Santana again. She was mad. I could see she was mad. She wanted to win, wanted to have this one thing. I remembered her writing in the middle of the night and I wondered if maybe it had been a song she wanted to do for the competition. Trouty Mouth had been a joke she'd penned in about five minutes during Glee, but writing in the middle of the night? That was something real. And Quinn was threatening to ruin it. "We get it. You're pissed about Finn dumping your sweet ass. _Get over it." _

"I don't want to get over it! Okay?" I flinched as Quinn yelled the words, looked back at Santana with my arms folded tightly over my chest before looking at the floor again. I hated fighting and I hated yelling. It made me nervous. I especially didn't like it between my two best friends. This had happened so much this year- the mean comments and angry words. I just hoped they weren't about to start physically fighting again. But no, Santana wouldn't. She knew how I felt about it.

"The only person that you're sabotaging here is yourself," she said, and her voice was still calm despite Quinn's yelling. I pressed a finger to my mouth, hoped that the signal would keep Quinn quiet. She didn't notice.

"I don't care about some… _stupid _show choir competition!" I flinched at the word 'stupid' and then stared at her, shocked by her yelling. I'd never seen her so mad before. Not even when she'd been fighting Santana that first time. My eyes moved to Santana as I whispered a quiet "shit" under my breath, knowing that Quinn's words would have pissed her off in turn. I was right. Santana never let people get away with saying that word around me, even if it wasn't really _about_ me. Besides, Quinn was insulting something Santana cared about.

"Well you _should," _she snapped back, "Because this is the one chance that we have to _actually _feel good about ourselves!" My eyes burned with sadness and I stared at the two of them, wanting to reach out and draw them both against me. I wanted to hug them until they stopped yelling, hugged them until they felt good about themselves even without singing or boyfriends or whatever else. I wanted Santana to stop being afraid, to stop feeling so sad, to stop being so insecure. I wanted Quinn to smile for real again, wanted her to understand that she _was _loved, that there were people who wanted her. Santana's words seemed to have dampened the fight, Quinn staring with drenched eyes right back at her.

"Aren't we supposed to be the popular girls?" she asked quietly, and her voice was like cracked glass. "So why can't we have our dreams come true." We stared at her, Santana trying to play it off while I just listened. "She has love, Tina has it, even Zizes hooks up." And I could hear the unspoken, _and you two have each other, _that she didn't say, even though Santana couldn't. She didn't know Quinn had guessed. Not then. We are all quiet. I stared at the carpet and fought the urge to grab them again, my hands curled tightly into fists. Quinn stepped back then and I moved towards her automatically. I almost told Santana to, too, but I realized a second later that we had moved at the same time anyways. She was already sitting at Quinn's other side so that we kind of made her a Quinn sandwich.

"I just want somebody to love me," she choked through her tears. I did reach out then, my hand stroking down her arm as she sniffed, played with her hair, rubbed her back. Santana comforted her with words while I comforted her with cuddling and suddenly it felt like it had in the bathroom after the funeral- like we were all friends again, like we were a unit, like even though Santana and I were… whatever we were, Quinn still filled the third slot of the unholy trinity and that would never change. Besties forever, we'd promised that years ago. Santana and I completed each other, but we completed Quinn. And we both loved her even if we were _in _love with each other. We loved her the way someone loves a best friend when things don't get complicated with kissing and sex and feelings. And that's nice, too.

So we blew off song writing for a while and called room service for a pair of scissors and I cut her hair right there in the hotel bathroom. I thought there was relief in her face as it fell away, as if all her insecurities and fears were cut away with them. Maybe being with best friends did that.

When we finally returned to the group, no one had really made any progress with song-writing, so it came as a surprise when like an hour into it, Santana (who hadn't even opened her notebook) announced boldly that she had a song. It didn't surprise me, of course. I'd been waiting since we'd walked in for her to tell them this. I can tell she was nervous because her fingers twisted together, but her expression was strong and determined. She wanted us to sing it. "While I applaud your efforts, Santana," Rachel said at last, her voice hesitant, "Your last attempt at song-writing was…" Her eyes shoot to Sam and back, "Less than inspiring."

"Why don't you read it before you shoot it down," I suggested quietly and everyone stared. I was always the last person to argue with someone, but I wanted people to at least give it a chance. They weren't being fair. So Rachel nodded and stood to take the notebook, flipping open to the first page. The more she read, the wider her eyes got, the faster she flipped through the pages. A peak over the top showed that Santana had even scribbled music notes and stuff in there below all the words. Rachel was humming it to herself, nodding excitedly.

"This is actually… Really good, Santana," she said before the notebook was passed around for everyone to see. I smiled proudly at her and she smiled back, though barely, too nervous to keep it on her face. I hard Puck start to play the notes on his guitar and it sounded amazing, even for a first time through. Santana mentioned he was too slow, that it was meant to be a more fast-paced song. When everyone agreed that this had to be one of our songs, I clapped and bounced slightly in place. I wanted to jump up and kiss her until neither of us could breathe right, but now wasn't the time for that. Now we had renewed energy and needed song number two. Even the news that Mr. Schuester was leaving didn't stop us, and when he came in with pizza and told us he wasn't really leaving, we got even more good energy and managed a second song as well.

We sat beside one another before our turn, pinkies linked as we watched the other choirs. I leaned over at one point and whispered, "No matter what happens, Santana, your song? It's so beautiful. And it's first place." She looked at me and our eyes met and I knew she could see that I understood the words in her song. I'd always had trouble with lyrics before, but not this time. Her pinky slipped away from mine and she took my whole hand instead, squeezing gently before she continued to watch and we waited for our turn.

And when we lost, it was awful.

Santana was silent the entire ride back to the hotel. I kept telling her that it wasn't her fault, that her song was amazing, that we'd absolutely _rocked_ Light Up the World, but she wasn't listening. Her arms were folded and I could tell her anger was building. It would burst free soon. And I was right. As soon as we were back in one of the rooms all together, there was a second of silence… and then she exploded. Words flew out of her mouth in furious Spanish. It took Quinn, Mike, and Sam to keep her from killing Finn and Rachel, and even then, she almost escaped. I knew they wouldn't be able to hold her back, and I was pretty sure that part of them didn't want to, either. So I stepped forward and said very quietly under the sound of her voice, "Santana." She froze, looked slowly towards me. Our eyes met and so many words were spoken. No one moved, no one breathed. And then she shoved off their arms and stormed out of the room. I sighed, grabbed both of the key cards for the other room, and quickly followed.

She couldn't get in when she reached the door, but I was quick to reach around her and open it. We walked in and I placed both key cards down, quickly bolting the door as she paced. "Okay I have both the keys," I said slowly. "So vent here, Santana. Cry if you have to, but get it out while we're alone. I'm not letting anyone else in here until you're okay again." She whirled on me, her dark eyes filled with her anger. She moved until she stood in front of me, then reached up and dragged my lips down to hers. It was a hard kiss, mad and filled with disappointment. This had meant a lot to her. This had been special. And it was ruined. So I didn't pull back, but let her pin me to the door as she kissed me.

And God, it felt good to have her again. To feel her pressed against me, not just in sleep, but with want. She wanted me to make it better, to give her an outlet, to… fix everything. "Fast," she panted into my mouth, and I heard the frantic way she said it. It echoed in my ears. "Fast, hard. Please, Britt, God, _fuck_ me." And as always, I tried to give her what she wanted. I moved us forward, shoved her into the wall beside the door. I reached under her skirt, pulled down the black spandex shorts as well as her underwear. She kicked them off and then used the wall to support her as I dragged first one thigh and then the other around my waist, stepping forward into her again. I could feel her heat then as she arched into me, body bowing back so her hips rolled forward against mine.

"Whatever you want, Santana," I breathed, and I kissed her again with that same amount of desire. Maybe giving into her request wasn't the best idea, maybe I should have calmed her down and comforted her instead of letting her get this. But I knew Santana and I knew what we both wanted and it was some sort of escape from the mess of losing. We were both hurt and we wanted each other for comfort and there wasn't really anything wrong with that. And if that meant rough sex against a hotel wall, then that was what we would do.

I shoved her dress up even as her hands unzipped mind and shove it down. We were both gripping bare skin then, her perfectly filed nails scratching over my back as my right hand slipped between us, fingers driving hard into her. Santana cried out and pulled me closer with strong legs, canted her hips against my hand as I set our pace- fast and hard and deep and, God, so missed. The feel of her body pressed to mine, the way her walls clenched around my seeking hand, the way her teeth nipped my lower lip before drawing it in and sucking on it so sooth the small pain- all of it. The first time she came, I panted into her neck and helped her ride it out. Then we were spinning back towards the nearest bed. The dresses disappeared, followed by anything we wore underneath. I sank down onto her again and she rolled us, straddling my hips.

And then the sob choked out of her.

Instantly my hands found her thighs, ran up and down them to sooth. "Shh, San." I sat up to bump our noses lightly together. She clutched at my shoulders as I did it again. Her mouth lifted and met mine, the kiss still desperate, but a lot slower now. I understood her sudden change of pace, knew the pain was catching up with her. Before I had told her that she could have whatever she wanted. Now, as she clung to me and started to cry, I whispered, "Whatever you need, baby."

"You," she cried in response, our foreheads pressed together. "I need you, Britt. I need you and I want you and I'm sorry." I shook my head, unwilling to accept apologies. I knew it wasn't for today, but for everything. Right there in a hotel room in New York City, she was telling me that she was sorry.

And I didn't want her apologies. I didn't want anything negative from her. I just wanted the future. I wanted the good words, the warm words. No, I needed them.

"I love you, Santana." I said it quietly, but my voice was firm. Our eyes met and slowly she nodded, a small smile forming.

"I love you too, Britt." She nudged me back against the mattress then, our mouths fused together. When our hands wandered that time, they were slow and steady and soft. When her hand ran down my stomach, it quivered. When she found me, wet and wanting, I opened willingly to her. And when she sank into me, it was perfect. Our eyes locked as she brought me up and up and over, until at last I was falling again and she caught me and held me close and whispered the words again and again in my ear.

_I love you more than anything._

_I love you more than anyone._

_I love you more than you can ever know._

_Please wait for me, Brittany. Not much longer, I swear._

And I agreed to give her the time. I would have given her the moon and stars if she asked it of me.

Later, she would ask me right in the hallways of McKinley about where we were headed. And even though I knew she knew the answer, I told her anyway. I said, "I love you, Santana. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else in this world. All I know about you and I is that, because of that, I think anything's possible."

And then she smiled and wrapped around me and we murmured words of friendship even though we knew it was so much more. For the first time in such a long time, our pinkies linked in the hallways of our high school and she asked me when I got so smart in that way she sometimes did.

"When I met this little four-year-old Puerto Rican girl and agreed to be her best friend," I replied and she laughed, grinning across at me. Her finger squeezed mine softly as we walked.

And suddenly anything _was_ possible and all those things that weren't dating before could be dating soon. Any moment, any day. There was no rush. I had promised her time and I'd give her as much as she needed. Time was fine, as long as _never _was _some day. _As long was possibility was dating soon. I would give Santana as long as she wanted, but I hoped it wouldn't be too long before she decided.

I wanted to start forever with her as soon as possible.


	15. Forever  Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**Santana's POV**

"… _I would give Santana as long as she wanted, but I hoped it wouldn't be too long before she decided. I wanted to start forever with her as soon as possible." _

I hear the final words of her story – _our _story – as I move down the hallway towards her and her audience. I'd heard the rest of it, of course; I'd listened through every bit of it, one section of it every night for two weeks so far. Our lives were so deeply interwoven that it would have been impossible to tell it all at once. It would have been sad, really, if she could answer the question "how did you two meet?" in a single night. There was still more to it, still so much more to it, and Brittany had told me at the start that she worried by the time she finished, she'd be asked to start again. _"It'll take me years to explain us, San!" _she'd told me, and I'd smiled and rolled my eyes and mentioned that when she was actually asked, she could just say "we met when we were four and it was love at first sight." But she insisted that her audience needed to hear it all at least once, even if she wouldn't remember later.

I step into the room, watching as Brittany explains that she's done for tonight, but she'll pick up where she left off tomorrow. She says it so sweetly that I smile in response, even though she isn't aware I'm there yet. Unobserved, I can watch her as she smiles, hands fussing and hair escaping its messy ponytail. She's so fucking beautiful, even all these years later, and I can feel my heart slamming in my breast even though we've been married for almost five years now. _Four years, eight months, and eleven days, in fact, _I think to myself, and I chuckle quietly. It catches Brittany's attention and she lifts her head to face me, her smile warm and loving. It always had been for me.

"How long has she been awake?" I ask, crossing to my wife so that I could peer down into the face of our daughter. She's nursing still, but sleepily now, our beautiful Gabrielle, a surprisingly serene baby for being only two weeks and one day old. You'd think she wasn't actually biologically from me, even though she'd come from one of my eggs. Of course, she'd grown inside Brittany, so maybe her nicer mommy's sweet blood had worked its magic on her and managed to cancel out the bitch genes she'd received from me. Not that I didn't fully expect her to be a fucking demon when she could walk and talk, but for now, she wasn't all that fussy. She doesn't quite sleep through the night yet, but Brittany doesn't mind. She is an extraordinarily gifted mother who seemed to know what Gabby needed even before she starts crying. It never fails to warm me up when I have them both near me- my beautiful family, the one I almost hadn't had because I'd been such a dumbass kid.

"Not long," she replies with a soft smile as she continues staring down at our baby. Gabby peers up at her with dark, solemn eyes, her mouth sucking sluggishly, one small hand pressed to Brittany's breast. The first time I'd witnessed Britt nursing her, I'd gone all sappy and started crying. Brittany had only beckoned me closer, ordered me to get into the hospital bed with them. I'd climbed up behind her and she'd scooted back to sit between my legs, leaning into me as Gabby eagerly ate her first meal. I'd run my hand down the baby's fine hair, scare of touching, fucking terrified of breaking her. I thought of all the fear I'd had of parenting, of being like my parents, of her growing up to hate me because I couldn't be what she needed. _"I'll love you no matter who you are, Gabrielle Susan Lopez." _In that moment, I'd decided I would be so much goddamned better than the assholes who'd failed to raise me. My kid would have the best fucking parents money would offer. And she totally wasn't getting a boob job when she was sixteen. Just sayin'.

Now, though, I smirk deliberately at Brittany when she looks back up at me, my chin lifting in the baby's direction. "I walk into a room to find some chick sucking my wife's tit and I can't even be pissed," I say, and she giggles as I expected her to. My smirk fades into a soft smile – something that always happens around Brittany, something that always had, I just couldn't help it – and motion for her to budge over. She shifts on the huge arm chair and I shift onto it so she sits between my legs again, my arms around her so that I could trace my fingers delicately over Gabby's dark hair. My other hand finds Brittany's, tangling our fingers.

To think I'd almost ruined this. The thought has been a fresh one in my mind since I'd first started listening to Brittany tell our story over the baby monitor beside our bed. To think I'd been such an arrogant little douche as a teenager. Well, I'd been fucking terrified. I tried to give myself that much of an out at least, but the rest of it had been me being a stubborn jackass. Still, there had been a lot of good in Brittany's story, too. Probably because she liked to think the best of everything, but whatever. She loves me, I love her. We have a beautiful daughter now. I remind myself that it's all that matters.

"You're thinking too loud," Brittany murmurs, turning her head so that her lips press to my cheek. "Stop that, you'll keep the baby up." That much is a lie. One look down shows that Gabby is already drifting, her eyes closed and her mouth lax on Brittany's breast. I smile, the pad of my thumb tracing the sweet curve of her soft, round cheek. That tiny mouth sucks reflexively in response, then slows again until she lets go with a sigh and a quiet pop.

"I think she's getting good at ignoring me already," I reply wryly, smirking as I turn my head as well. I catch Brittany's lips with my own, kiss her slowly. A quiet sound of pleasure escapes her before she pulls back, leaning contentedly into me. I adjust her shirt back down over her and then we just sit there with our eyes glued to the baby sleeping peacefully in my wife's arms. So perfect, so perfectly ours. Our family.

"I want her to know, San." She says quietly. "Somewhere in her, I want her to know our story. I want her to hear it all from start to finish so that even if she doesn't remember when she's older, she'll always know deep down how much we love each other. How much we love her." She brings the baby up closer, dips her head to place a soft kiss against her forehead. "Because she's so ours and I'm already so proud of her and so in love with her. I think love at first sight runs in our family."

I smile and kiss her shoulder. How could I have ever thought I could live without her being mine? "We're not letting her get married when she's four," I say dryly and she laughs and sprinkles kisses over my face. It's warm and loving and sweet and so innately _Brittany_ that I can only smile and receive each kiss, kissing back with every one that finds my lips.

"I'm gonna put her in her crib, and them I'm gonna drag you back into our room so we can get our cuddle on and like, actually sleep together for a couple of hours."

"Will you keep your bra off?"

Her quiet giggling comes again as she climbs off of the chair without even jostling the baby, sending a wink over her shoulder. I watch her quietly, watch both of them as Brittany settles Gabrielle into her crib and fusses over her a moment. She sends the mobile spinning, the colorful birds dancing in circles as Songbird plays in gentle chimes from its tiny music box. And I'm thinking, this is my family. This is my everything. How fucking huge is that? But I'm not scared anymore. She had convinced me a long time ago that I deserved her, deserved this. And I had known since I was four that she deserved every single thing she could ever want. My beautiful Brittany, so sweet and perfect and loving.

"Come on, baby," she whispers as she returns to me, drawing me to my feet and into her arms. We wrap around one another, kissing warmly, deeply. Her fingers run through my sleep-mussed hair and mine slip under her shirt to run up the curve of her back. It's not sexual because we were given a strict no-contact order by the doctor until Britts is given the okay (well, it might be a little sexual because my wife is hot and it has been a while, but it's fine, whatever). "Let's go back to our room." But it's always hard for us, leaving her, even though she sleeps like a fucking angel most of the time. So we linger, our eyes skirting to the crib and back until at last we edge out of the room and head for our own.

Mine. Ours. Every dream come true. I think of all the stupid rules I'd set as a kid – this isn't dating, that isn't dating, blah blah – and can't help but roll my eyes at myself. Love is dating, or it should be. Love is fucking everything and if I'd actually been stupid enough to waste it instead of growing some metaphorical balls and asking Britt out senior year, I would have hated myself forever. This is everything I want and need in my life. These two (and probably more kids down the road- Britt's been hinting and I know I'll give in to whatever she wants) make everything worth it.

We climb into bed and I think again of those words.

"You know, Britt, sex isn't dating," I say to her as we're settling beneath the quilt, meeting in the middle as we always do.

"Oh really?" she mumbles.

"Really. And neither is kissing or sex or promises or any of that shit."

"Mhmm. So what are all those things, San?" she asks against my neck and I can feel her smile there pressed into my skin. My own smile slips onto my lips and I kiss the top of her head and pull her close against me.

"They're forever, Britt. When they're us, they're forever."

**Thank you for reading. **


End file.
